


Clarity

by fogisbeautiful



Series: Now I See Clearly [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Between Avengers (2012) and Thor: The Dark World, F/M, Family Drama, Imprisonment, Marvel Norse Lore, Mentions of Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Thor: The Dark World, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogisbeautiful/pseuds/fogisbeautiful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki (traitor, usurper, the fallen prince) is imprisoned beneath the palace that was once his home, cut off even from his mother, possibly the only person in the Nine Realms who still cares for him. But Lady Frigga is clever, with a girl in her service uniquely suited to the purpose she has in mind. And if Klara is lucky, she might find her own answers in the dungeons of Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, there is currently a Spanish translation being made of this work over on [FF.net!](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12291319/1/Clarity-Traducci%C3%B3n)

Lady Frigga paced her chambers, worrying her hands together, her brow furrowed. Her blue robes swirled as she turned, retracing the length of the room, her sandaled feet a whisper against the stones. The source of her distress couldn't be spoken, not to anyone, not even to her beloved son and _especially_ not to her husband. It would not do for the Queen of the Nine Realms to be seen fretting over a war criminal, a prisoner of Asgard, a traitor.

Her son.

 _'No,'_ Odin would say, _'He is not your son.'_ But he was. Frigga had raised the child from infancy, so small, so fragile, and though she had been told that he was not Asgardian, that he might even grow to be dangerous, in her eyes he had never been more than a child, _her_ child, and she loved him. But now he had been taken from her, trapped somewhere in the dungeons below the stones that bore her frantic pacing, and she could not reach him. By royal decree, she could not even _see_ him! And her heart was breaking in the silence.

Her door brushed open and she spun to face her intruder, but it was only a girl, one of her hand maidens, bearing a tray of fruit and cheese. The girl bobbed a small curtsy, her long golden curls dropping to partially obscure her face.

"My lady," the girl said, in a soft voice, her eyes respectfully locked on the flagstones.

Frigga recognized her. She was slight and pretty, even in her servants' tunic and leggings, and though Frigga could not see her averted eyes, she knew them to be a sharp blue. She moved through the room with grace and confidence, born of years of service, setting out the lunch tray and gathering up small items that had been misplaced. It gave the girl an air of strength and competence. Yes, Frigga remembered this girl, remembered the incident that had brought her into the Queen's service, remembered the unique gift she possessed. Perhaps now was the time to put that gift to good use.

"Klara."

The girl turned and, briefly, her eyes met the Queen's, giving Frigga a small jolt, before the girl remembered herself.

"I have a task for you."

* * *

Loki Laufeyson paced his cell, hands clasped at the base of his stiffly straight spine, sharp green eyes flitting to and fro as he walked the length and breadth of his enclosure, observing all that he could through the golden tint of his prison walls. To the guards beyond he appeared completely at ease, his doppelganger lounging calmly atop his bed. _Bed_ , hah! It hardly deserved such a noble title! A cot more like, barely able to accommodate his long legs and boasting all the comfort of a boulder. He might as well be sleeping on the floor! But it was the only furniture he had been allowed, and so he used it to what little advantage he could, even if only to keep his guards from reporting his doings to Odin Allfather.

On his third circuit of the empty room (and in the midst of considering changing his double's position), he heard the door to the dungeons creak open. He paused and glanced toward the dim stairwell that led to the main floor of the palace, doppelganger mimicking his interest. He could not see the door, but he could hear incoherent murmurings echoed down to him on the dark stone. It was not yet time for the changing of the guard. Whoever had entered the dungeon was not a part of the prison detail. Someone from the palace. Perhaps someone he knew. He waited.

The door shut with an echoing boom, and two sets of steps descended the stairs. The guard appeared first in his golden armor, followed by a girl, clothed in the tunic and leggings of a servant. She was small, delicate, with wisps of blonde hair swirling around her narrow shoulders. What business had such a creature in the dungeons? She stepped past the guard with a curt nod, sweeping down the corridor with long purposeful strides. The occupants of the other cells she passed hissed and laughed and gurgled crude remarks, but her head remained high and her stride steady, never once allowing her eyes to stray to the side. Loki felt the twitch of a smirk on his lips. No such expression reached the face of his doppelganger, who was once again lounging on the cot with an air of disinterest. Loki eased back in his cell, leaning against the far wall and waiting for the girl to pass by. Perhaps he would say something as she passed, try to spook her into breaking stride. After all, of the many creatures locked up in this place, he was by far the most dangerous. And the most bored.

But she didn't pass by. Instead, she came to a crisp halt directly before his cell, hands clasped behind her with a sort of prim efficiency. Her eyes wandered the interior of the cell, briefly skipping over him before landing and locking on to the form of his doppelganger, whom he had not yet allowed to acknowledge her presence.

"My lord Loki," she said, her voice clear, sharp, and direct.

Loki did not allow his double to spare her even a glance, maintaining that air of cool indifference, but he allowed his own eyes to rake over her as she dipped into a perfect curtsy.

"I am come on behalf of Lady Frigga, to ask after your health and comfort, and to see to any requests you may have."

Ah, one of Mother's pets. She did seem vaguely familiar. He pushed away from the wall and slipped a bit closer. She didn't move or acknowledge his actions, but then she wouldn't. To all appearances, he had not moved from the bed where he lay, staring resolutely at the ceiling tiles. He took advantage of her ignorance and stepped even closer, until he stood right in front of her, hands behind his back mimicking her own posture. She held herself like a lady, despite her servants' garb, and he wondered briefly if that were noble blood or simply a by-product of his mother's presence.

Finally, he allowed his doppelganger to speak.

"You may tell the Lady Frigga that my health is as it ever was, and my comfort is hardly any concern of hers."

The girl did not flinch, did not even blink at the bitter words.

"And requests?"

Loki snorted.

"My freedom?" he muttered under his breath.

 _"Reasonable_ requests?" she quipped back.

Loki and the girl both stiffened at the same time. For a long moment neither moved. It was not the words themselves, or even her tone (with its undeniable edge of disrespect) that caused the air to descend around them in a thick, heavy silence.

Loki's double had not said the words. _He_ had said them. He alone. And she had _answered_ him.

Slowly, the girl's head turned and her eyes traveled up to meet his, his _true_ eyes. The bright blue grabbed hold of his brilliant green and held with unapologetic boldness. She could see him. She could see him all along.

With a wave of his hand, his doppelganger dissolved and he allowed smugness to lift the corners of his lips.

"Oh, you are good," he said, taking a step back and surveying her again, "What is it? Magic? A new spell of the Lady Frigga?"

The girl held her ground admirably, her back straight and her arms clasped firmly behind her, but he could see she had been rattled by her slip.

"I have no magic, my lord," she said, "And it is no work of Lady Frigga, though she has known of my condition since my childhood."

"And what condition would that be, exactly?" Loki asked, bending to get a better look into her bright, blue eyes. She held his gaze steadily.

"No illusion can fool me," she said, "And no magic can touch me."

"An Abjurate…"

Now Loki was thoroughly intrigued. His mother employed an Abjurate. And from the slight widening of her eyes, followed by a subsequent narrowing of suspicion, the child had never heard her kind named in her life. Of course, that wouldn't be in the least bit unusual if she were a normal Asgardian. Abjurates were practically unheard of. There hadn't been a confirmed Abjurate in thousands of years. Even the old cases were under suspicion. And he had never heard of anyone who'd been born with the gift.

Loki straightened and took another step back. The girl's gaze followed him. He was impressed, though he did not allow his expression to show it. She might see through his illusions, but she couldn't see his mind. And that... That left the taste of a challenge on his tongue. What could she do? What could _he_ do? Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything else to occupy his time…

He smiled.

"My bed."

The girl's delicate eyebrows shot up.

"My lord?"

It took all of Loki's control not to grin wolfishly. Instead he waved a dismissive hand toward the pitiful excuse of a _cot_ in the corner.

"My current bedding arrangement. It's unacceptable. I would like to request that my own bed be transferred to me."

The girl's brows returned to their former position and she nodded decisively.

"I shall see that your request is heard by the Lady Frigga and..."

"You will oversee the transfer yourself, of course."

The girl's mouth snapped shut, and so did her expression. Her eyes bore into him and he could see an intelligence turning there, trying to read his expression, to gauge his intent. She was smart. Much smarter than Loki would have expected from a mere servant girl, even an Abjurate.

"I will do as the Lady Frigga bids," she answered, cautiously, as a mouse who knows to step lightly into a trap.

Loki shrugged and turned away, careful not to seem eager or impatient.

"Very well."

He could feel the girl's pause, then saw her bob a short curtsy in his peripheral vision and turn on her heel, head held high, determined. He allowed her to take three strides before he called out to her retreating form.

"What is your name?"

She paused, then turned back, fixing him with that cold, blue stare.

"Klara."

And then she was gone, walking so fast that if he hadn't known better, he might have thought she was fleeing. Loki watched her go, expressionless, until the door to the dungeon opened and shut once more. His eyes slid away, surveying his surroundings and finally settling on the tiny cot once more. He grimaced, but reluctantly lowered himself onto the hard mattress, propping his feet on the railing at the foot and letting his head rest on the flat pillow, his hands folded over his chest. He stared at the blank white ceiling and his finger began to tap a nervous rhythm against the back of his hand.

The truth was, he was going to be down here a very long time, _rotting_ if Odin had his way, his mind and his body deteriorating in the slowest, most painful way possible, a death of atrophy. He needed something to keep his mind sharp, a distraction, something to pass the time. An Abjurate... what an interesting puzzle.

Loki smiled again, a toothy, sly expression.

"Klara..." he repeated in a low whisper.

* * *

Klara was not allowed to pace. She could only walk, walk as fast as her legs would carry her, through the glittering halls, between the marbled columns, past the lords and ladies who barely saw her as she passed, her servants' tunic working almost as a robe of invisibility among them. She walked until she came to the servants' wing, and the small door that led to the only place in Asgard that was truly hers. By the time she'd closed the door behind her, her legs were too weak for nervous pacing and she slid to the floor, her back against the intricately engraved woodwork, her eyes closed, taking deep gulps of air to still her pounding heartbeat.

Loki Odinson... the Usurper... she'd been made the servant of a traitor, a murderer, a would-be tyrant. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it was she had done so wrong in her service to the Lady Frigga to merit such... but no. She knew why she'd been chosen. She opened her eyes and stared at her hands, as if they might provide answers. They were trembling and she formed them into tight fists, shutting her eyes again, dropping her head against the solid wood of the door.

The problem was not in her hands. It was in her head, in her body, in her very soul.

_Abjurate..._

That was what he had called her. An Abjurate. Lady Frigga had never named her thus, but the word still rang true somehow. The queen had warned her of this, that this was how he would work to deceive her.

 _"He does not speak in outright lies, but in half-truths and quick slips of tongue,"_ she'd said, _"You must always be on guard. Your gift may protect you from his magic, but your wit must protect you from his words."_

Klara buried her face in her hands and took a long, deep breath. There was nothing else to do. She cleared her head of the place she had been, of the words she had said, of the cold, calculating glee in his eyes. She erased the musty smell of the wet stone and the bright gold of the field that held the dungeon dwellers in check. Only one thing remained: a cot, too small for his long frame. She took another breath and stood to her feet. Lady Frigga would be waiting. And the transfer would take time.

Klara squared her shoulders and opened the door, sweeping back into the world, her head high and her thoughts aligned once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Lady Frigga had not even hesitated at the request. In a matter of days, Klara was once again striding toward the dark stairwell that led into the depths of the palace, four men in armor trailing after her with their burden, not actually a bed, but a long couch with beautiful red velvet and curling gold legs. Knowing the amount of letters and requisitions exchanged to acquire it, Klara thought that perhaps the piece of furniture was more trouble than it was worth. Even knowing the cot provided was clearly too small, was this really the sort of treatment they should be indulging for such a...? Her mind would not provide a word, and some small part of her whispered:

_He was once a prince... He was once a son..._

Andvari was once again on guard at the prison door, and Klara took a sharp breath, holding herself a bit taller, but making certain no other emotion showed on her face as she approached. He planted himself before the stairwell, his staff clenched in his gloved hand, fully a head taller than she was and twice as broad. It was difficult to see his face beneath his golden Einherjar helmet, but the scowl in his eyes was apparent. Klara clasped her hands behind her and snapped her feet together, hoping for just a centimeter or two more height.

"I have orders from the Lady Frigga to see this delivered to the prisoner within these walls," she said, pleased that her voice did not tremble or betray any emotion, even as her face burned with the heat of Andvari's glare, "I have all the proper documentation."

One of the men behind her locked his corner of the gravity lift into place and approached, holding out a roll of parchment. For a long moment, Andvari just stared down at her, paying the parchment no heed, only searching her face. Klara stood under his scrutiny and said nothing, did nothing, only waited with a calm, stoic face that somehow masked the pounding of her heart.

Finally, Andvari took the parchment and unrolled it reluctantly, his sharp gray eyes scanning the order. He glanced back at her, eyes narrowed, and Klara had a moment when she faltered, wondered if the documents really were all in order, if some mistake hadn't been made.

He saw this and it seemed to satisfy him. He snapped the parchment shut and tucked it into his tunic.

"Proceed," he said, in a deep, musical baritone.

He waved his hand before a glowing disc in the wall and the heavy wooden door clicked. It did not creak open ominously, as Klara might have imagined from stories told to her as a child, but swung silently on well-maintained hinges. She took a step toward the dark opening and Andvari snatched her arm, his eyes boring into her desperately. She was reminded of the first time, only a few days before.

_Why you? Why this? I do not like it, Klara._

She stopped and met his eyes, but his gaze flicked back toward the men waiting patiently behind her and he said nothing. This was a discussion not meant for strangers' ears. He freed her arm and she descended the stairs, finding the gentle hum of the gravity lift comforting in the close darkness.

The light in the dungeon was dim, but the pockets of brilliance along the walls made the place seem disorienting and strange, harsh. Klara walked quickly past the jeering creatures in the foremost cells, easily tuning out their harsh words and rude gestures. They were nothing to her, as meaningless as animals. But in the midst of them, surrounded by blinding brilliance and emptiness, calm and silent, that was where the real danger lay.

Klara approached his cell with caution, her eyes scanning the white emptiness through the crisscross of gold that held him. She did not look at him directly, though she could feel his eyes on her, sharp pinpoints of eager energy following her every movement. Instead she searched for his double, the shadow of himself that he projected to keep his movements secret. There was no sign of it or any other magic. She was glad. She did not wish to pretend that she could not see him while the transfer took place.

"You will step back," one of the men spoke, his voice loud and bracing in the silence, "You will press yourself to the back wall and wait for the sensors to recognize your energy signature. You will be locked in place while the transfer is made. Do you understand?"

"Do you?"

The sneer in Loki's voice drew Klara's attention back to him. He was no longer looking at her, instead locking the man that had spoken with a disdainful eye, his lip curled.

"You spout such words and orders, but do you truly understand what has come out of your mouth? Do you know what you speak and who you speak it to?"

The man narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to reply, but Klara cut in.

"My lord, Loki."

His eyes flicked to her and his expression shifted in a blink. He grinned, his teeth gleaming, almost feral and his eyes glinted in the bright white light.

"You did come," he said, his words coating her like syrup, "I wondered if you would."

"I do as Lady Frigga bids," Klara said, not allowing any emotion to color her tone, "And she has bid me come."

Klara gestured to the settee, still floating on the gravity lift behind her, "Your request has been fulfilled, my lord. Will you allow the transfer?"

Loki's eyes brushed over her and it took everything within her not to shiver. His lips twitched.

"You know your words," he said, clasping his hands behind him and stepping back, as if to get a better look at her, "And you use them well. I am impressed."

He continued to step back, almost absently, until he was pressed to the back wall, leaning his head back in casual deference.

"Go on then," he said, sounding bored now.

The gravity lift operator wasted no time, pressing the almost invisible catch in the carving of the cell's frame that engaged the biolocks. There was a soft click and a medium tone echoed against the stones of the dungeon. The rest of the men maneuvered the gravity lift until it was hovering just outside the golden light barrier. Klara stood back and allowed them to do their work. One of the men pressed a button on a keypad and another dull tone sounded, this time pulsing continuously as the golden wall opened, spreading out from a rift in the center until it was wide enough for the settee to pass through. The men did not enter the cell themselves, but maneuvered the gravity lift by control pad, lowering the settee into the cell and removing the inadequate cot. Once the cot was safely outside, the man pressed the button again and the barrier snapped shut, the dull pulse of sound finally cut off. Klara could still feel it pulsing at her temple, the sound of blood pumping in her veins.

There was another tone as the biolocks were disengaged, but Loki didn't move. He had not moved through the entire ordeal. He only stared at her, his eyes piercing, an enigmatic smile on his face. Klara pretended to take no notice. The men collected their burden and began to make their way back to the stairwell, clearly eager to be free of this place. Klara knew she should join them. But she hesitated, not quite looking at Loki, instead choosing to fix her eyes on a spot just over his right shoulder.

"Is there anything else you require?" she asked, knowing she should ask, it was her job now.

Loki glanced disdainfully at the settee.

"You know, I did ask for a bed," he said, with barely a hint of a sneer.

"The Lady Frigga has done everything in her power to fulfill your request," Klara said, her voice sharp even in her own ears, "If the transfer is unsatisfactory, I can arrange for your cot to be returned..."

He laughed. The sound startled Klara so much that she dropped her guard, only for a second, and looked straight at him. She could feel the slack in her expression and she worked quickly to mask her surprise, but Loki's eyes were quick and sharp. He grinned.

"Oh, you do have a spark in you," he said, finally pushing off the wall and pacing toward her, working in a zigzag pattern across the open expanse of his cell, "Just a touch, like flint on stone. I wonder..."

He dropped to a crouch so she could not escape his gaze. For a long moment they only stared at one another, Loki's smirk never wavering, his eyes flicking over her face in a rapid assessment, as Klara worked hard to keep her face impenetrable, a lifeless husk.

"Is there anything else you require, Lord Loki?" she asked, proud of the emotionless tone of her voice.

His smile widened. Klara didn't know why. Then he straightened so suddenly that it nearly made her dizzy.

"A book," he said, no longer looking at her, instead pacing the length of his cell as he spoke, thoughtfully, "Yes, that will do. I wish you to bring me a book."

Klara relaxed her shoulders slightly.

"I will convey your request to the Lady Frigga for any of your books that can be spared..."

"No."

She stopped. Loki was staring across the dungeon, but his eyes were no longer on anything within the palace walls.

"No. You will bring me a specific book."

He paused, considering.

"Voluspo," he said, with a definitive nod, "Yes, that will do very nicely, I think."

He spun on his heel and faced her, a genial smile on his face now.

"I request my copy of the Poetic Edda. That is all."

Klara narrowed her eyes, despite herself. She didn't understand. Why wouldn't he want all of his books? Why just this particular volume? So far as she understood, it was only a book of old myths and poems. But she was tired, the effort of maintaining her emotionless facade taking its inevitable toll, so she only nodded.

"Very well. I will see what can be done."

Loki gave her no more attention, instead flopping onto his newly delivered settee and closing his eyes, hands folded on his chest, his expression relaxed and dismissive. Klara watched him for a moment, unobserved for the first time since she'd come here, watched his narrow chest rise and fall, and wondered at what beat under the layers of skin and bone that wrapped him. Was there a heart there at all? Was there anything?

She turned sharply on her heel and strode down the corridor, her head held high once more, clearing her mind of thoughts that were not hers to have. It was not her job to wonder about the heart of Loki Odinson. She had enough work to do.

* * *

Acquiring the book was no trouble and, despite the specific nature of the request, Lady Frigga entrusted Klara with several more volumes to deliver as well. But it was a few days more before Klara was able to return to the dungeon cell of her new charge. She no longer wished to enter the dungeon when Andvari was on guard. It would only make him angry about things neither of them could hope to change. It hurt her to do this, to feel as if she were sneaking around him, but he had left her little choice. Both times she had approached the dungeon under his watch, he had made it clear that he was unhappy with her new duties, but the will of Lady Frigga trumped even the will of the man who one day hoped to become her betrothed. He knew this, which only served to fuel his anger. He had even gone so far as to blame Klara for the arrangement.

_"You never stand up for yourself, Klara!"_ he had said, _"You must learn to make yourself plain, to speak out when you are treated unfairly."_

But Klara did not see it as unfair. She was, after all, uniquely suited to the task, as she had proven in her first day of her new service. But she said nothing, only nodded and soothed. It did no good to speak to him when he was being unreasonable in this way. He would understand, in time. It was the shock that was speaking now, the fear that something would happen to her while she was down there, even though his fears were unfounded. The traitor-prince was safely locked behind his wall of golden light. What harm could he do to her? But still Andvari scowled and muttered and sulked. It was better to perform her duties to the fallen prince when he was not on guard. Just for now, just until he could get his mind around it and see that she was in no danger.

So she waited until she knew he was scheduled time off before returning to the dungeons, bearing the stack of books in her arms. The guard on duty took her requisition form from the top of the book stack, read it carefully, and inspected the volumes before allowing her access. She edged down the stairs, careful not to misplace her feet, and then made her quick and steady way forward. A few of the inmates appeared to be losing interest in her, but most still jeered and leered as she passed their cells. She kept her head high and her feet moving, continuing to pay them no mind, her eyes focused on the nearly empty cell at the far end of the corridor.

She could see a shadow moving in the bright light and knew that Loki had his double prowling. She did not see the prince himself until she was directly before him, lounging on his settee, eyes closed, hands behind his head, as if he were napping in the summer sun, rather than under the harsh lights of a prison cell. Klara saw the doppelganger tilt his head and grin out of the corner of her eye.

"You don't listen very well, do you girl?"

The voice of the mirage sounded as if it were coming from underwater, garbled and low, and it took a lot of concentration for Klara to comprehend the words. She did not spare a glance for the illusion, keeping her eyes fixed on the prince. There was no need to pretend she could not see him. If his tricks amused him, that was his own affair.

"I have brought what you requested, and also that which the Lady Frigga has bid me," she said.

"Do you do anything other than what you are bid?" the illusion asked and Klara could not tell if he was being snide or genuinely curious. Such subtleties were difficult to detect under the burden of her condition.

_Abjurate..._ some small voice in her mind whispered, but she quickly silenced it.

"If you will stand aside as before, I will leave these for you."

"No."

The word had snapped from Loki's own mouth and the mirage shimmered out of existence, as if a strong breeze had whisked it away. The prince sat up and swung to face her, his hands clenching the velvet cushions.

"I requested only _one_ book, and that I will accept. The others can go back to the one who sent them, who thinks she knows better than I what I need."

For a moment they stared at each other, Klara using every bit of her resolve to keep from lashing out at the ungrateful prince. She briefly considered using the same bluff she had with the settee, threatening to leave him with nothing, but she hesitated, unsure if such a threat would work twice. And if the prince called her bluff she would be the one suffering, not he, for she would be the one carrying the books up the stairs again, only to return with the same stack later, she was sure of it. Lady Frigga would want the books delivered. She would know that her son was playing a game, but she would still want the books delivered. And Klara served the Lady Frigga, Queen of Asgard and the Nine Realms, _not_ her traitorous son.

Klara narrowed her eyes and considered again. Loki's expression had not altered in any way. He was watching her, waiting, trying to anticipate her response, his unnerving eyes flicking over her face eagerly, hoping she would show some sign of resistance. It was what he wanted. For a brief moment, she hated him. She hated his arrogant smirk and the way he deigned to order her about on petty errands for his own amusement, even from the disgrace of imprisonment. She hated that she was forced to play his games, all for the love of a mother that he neither deserved nor requited. And she would not give him what he wanted.

She took a breath through her nose and gently, deliberately, placed the stack of books on the stone floor, stepping back with only the top volume, the Poetic Edda, clutched demurely in her hands. Loki rolled his eyes and huffed.

"How disappointing."

He swept to his feet and placed himself against the back wall once more, his head leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, paying her no more mind than a beetle now. Klara watched him closely, her eyes following his every movement as she reached out to press the hidden catch that engaged the biolocks. The warning tone sounded. With a speed and grace honed and perfected by years in the queen's service, Klara swept the stack of books back into her arms. Loki's eyes snapped back to her and he frowned, his brow furrowed, but he said no word. There was nothing he could do now, bound to the wall of his cell with locks keyed to his unique biological signature. He was essentially pinned there, like a colorful, shimmering butterfly. And they both knew it.

She approached the golden barrier of the cell, her eyes skimming the crisscrossing light. She had no button to open the barrier. Even if she had been given one, it was unlikely it would have worked properly, given her previous experience with such devices. It didn't matter though. The wall was made of energy, not a physical substance. With a considerable effort, Klara managed to juggle the books under her arm, freeing one of her hands, reaching out her palm toward the glittering barrier. She hesitated, then took a deep, steadying breath, set her jaw, and pressed her hand flat to the golden pattern. There was no pulsing tone, no gradual opening. The barrier shimmered, flashed, and then vanished.

Klara stepped into the cell over the now empty threshold, and she could feel Loki's eyes following her as she very neatly and purposefully placed the entire stack of books on the settee. As she straightened the stack deliberately on the velvet couch, she ran her hand over the red leather cover of the topmost volume. Embossed in gold across the front were the words: _"The Poetic Edda of the Nine Realms, recorded and kept by Bragi the Skald"_. The leather was worn, the pages clearly well-read, but the gold of the lettering still gleamed like new and as Klara passed her hand over the words they shimmered, fading almost out of existence. She jerked her hand away from the cover, clutching it to her chest instinctively. She would not be able to read this book, even had she wished it. A little part of her ached with longing, but she quickly buried it.

She straightened and her eyes flicked almost involuntarily toward Loki. His eyes were narrowed, flitting over her face in something that might have been curiosity if it didn't have that faint air of fiendish spite. Klara gritted her teeth and smoothed her lilac tunic, turning away from the prince's unnerving stare. But she could still feel his gaze on her back as she crossed the room, approaching the barrier which had rematerialized as soon she'd passed the threshold. One touch from her hand brought it down again in a flash of light. She passed through and took several steps out of the cell before spinning on her heel to watch the barrier snap back into place.

Loki was still staring at her, the stack of books on the settee forgotten. Klara pressed the hidden catch, and there was a click and that dull tone as the locks released. Loki lazily pushed himself off the wall, as if he had been leaning there purely of his own accord the whole time, and approached the barrier like a cat stalking prey. Klara did not move. Did not even blink. She met the prince's gaze with a look of indifference that she hoped did not betray how her heart was pounding. She could still smell the emptiness in the air of the cell, how it had hung so still around her, how hard it had been to breathe...

He stopped just short of the barrier and finally broke his gaze from hers, contemplating the shimmering gold hanging in the air before him. He raised one hand and pressed his fingertips to the golden mesh. The light rippled around his touch, but did not give way.

"Fascinating," he murmured, meeting her eyes again, "I do hope you never do anything to merit imprisonment, Mistress Klara. I fear your fate would be even worse than mine."

It was not out of kindness that he said this, but some sort of strange glee, as if he were imagining the horror that awaited her with anticipation. Klara swallowed and stuck out her chin.

"They would toss me into a dark hole, never to see the light of day again, Lord Loki," she said, "It would matter very little what the walls were made of."

Rather than put him off, Loki's smile widened when she said this, as if he were pleased with her. That made Klara hesitant, clasping her hands behind her back and forcing any remnant of emotion from her expression. But the prince had moved on, sauntering toward the stack of books and shuffling through them. Klara waited, her hands clasped tightly to keep from shaking. It had been foolish, leaving the books against his express wishes. But what could he do? He was imprisoned and she was outside the cell. Nothing could penetrate those walls... well, _almost_ nothing. Certainly nothing that the prince possessed.

He finished his catalog of the volumes, turning over the last book, as if searching for something.

"Is there anything else?" Klara asked, surprised by the sharpness of her own voice. The eerie echoes of the dungeon were beginning to wear on her and she could not get the scent of loneliness and abandonment out of her nose.

Loki did not even seem to notice. He selected the red leather volume he had asked for, and flipped open the front cover. Then, without looking up, he flicked his wrist and the rest of the books flew into a corner of the room and landed in an untidy heap. Though the gesture was not inherently violent, Klara still flinched at the careless treatment of his mother's kindness. Her hands were beginning to ache from clenching them so tightly. Loki flung himself onto the settee, thumbing through the pages of poetry, skimming the words with his sharp eyes. Klara's jaw tightened. She nearly turned on her heel and left, but... she was used to being dismissed. Walking away was not in her nature. She hesitated.

"If there is nothing else, my lord...?" she said, her tone now disgustingly timid, even in her own ears.

It was as if he had been waiting for this.

"There is another book I would like," he said, flipping through the pages in his hand, "The Application of Traversable Wormhole Metrics in Gravitational Field Models."

Klara blinked. Ancient poetry and now... wormholes? It was so... contradictory. Unfathomable. She opened her mouth, but then quickly closed it again. It was no concern of hers. Loki did not seem to notice her hesitation. His eyes never left the book in his hand. He seemed to have found a passage of interest to him, because his fingers no longer flipped the pages and his eyes sat upon the paper, drinking in the words. Klara felt that cold hatred building up inside her chest again, but she scooped it up and stuffed it as far down inside her as she could, clenching her jaw to keep it where it belonged. She dropped a short bob of a curtsy.

"I will see to it. Good day, my lord."

She turned and left him, not allowing any of the prisoners to see her fume.

* * *

"Are you certain he asked for this particular book?" Lady Frigga asked, as she swirled a signature along the bottom of the requisition.

"Yes, my lady."

"And what of the other volumes I sent?"

Klara hesitated. Lady Frigga looked up and her expression softened into an understanding smile.

"It's alright, Klara," she said, setting down her pen and folding her hands gently in her lap, "You may speak freely."

Klara's fingers fidgeted behind her back as she tried to put together words to describe what had happened.

"He... didn't appear to appreciate... He seemed very _ungrateful_ , my lady."

She clamped her mouth shut, horrified at the sharp bite of her own anger. Had she taken leave of her senses? Elli would have her hide if she knew... but the queen only nodded, still smiling gently.

"Yes, I thought as much."

Klara swallowed and said nothing more. How could she remain so demure, so calm, when her son was acting like a...

"Try not to be harsh with him, Klara," Lady Frigga said, handing over the requisition, "He is angry, stubborn, proud, but he is still my son. What he wants and what he needs are all too often entirely different things."

Klara could think of no words that were not harsh at the moment, so she merely curtsied and took her leave.

* * *

The palace library resided in the Halls of Science, and with the help of one of the attendants Klara was able to acquire the requested book. But she wasn't able to return to the dungeons until late the next evening, when all her other duties had been fulfilled. She was late, already an hour past the time she had agreed to meet Andvari at the tavern. She rushed through the halls of the palace toward the now familiar darkened doorway, and an unfamiliar guard halted her on the step, carefully inspecting her requisition order and transfer documents. Klara did her best not to shift anxiously on her toes, gripping the thick volume of black to her chest tightly. The guard inspected her papers again, along with the book she held, and then shrugged, waving a hand toward the glowing panel lock. The door swung open and Klara hurried through, flustered by the delay. Andvari would be waiting, frustrated by her absence, she would have to explain...

She rushed by the other prisoners, their faces a blur, passing by many before they even had a chance to notice her. She very nearly had to slide to a stop before Loki's prison cell. He lay reclined on his velvet settee, the red leather book open in his hand. As Klara desperately tried not to appear to be catching her breath, his voice suddenly rang out in a golden tenor that easily filled the space between them.

_"The sun, the sister of the moon,_

_Her right hand cast over heaven's rim;_

_No knowledge she had where her home should be,_

_The moon knew not what might was his,_

_And the stars knew not where their stations were."_

The words hung in the air, floating like music, and Klara had to resist the urge to close her eyes, to breathe them in like incense. Her hands relaxed their frantic hold on the black book at her chest and the muscles between her shoulder blades loosened against her will. She had her breath back now, but for a moment she had forgotten what she intended to say.

"It's the story of creation."

Loki's smooth voice glided over her, drawing her eyes back to him from the far off place they had wandered of their own accord. He was watching her intently, his cheek pressed against the red velvet of the settee, his eyes sharp, but not disdainful, no hint of his customary smirk to be seen.

"I thought you might like it."

And she had. She had liked it. It was beautiful, haunting, ancient and yet somehow intensely present. It resonated with some deep place inside her, some piece of her that had always felt misplaced, groping, adrift...

A thud and an electric buzz made Klara jump. The group of inmates two cells down cackled and guffawed, wrestling within their brightly lit cell and paying no mind to anyone else. The knot between Klara's shoulders locked up again and her spine stiffened, her grip on the black book in her arms tightening minutely. Loki snapped his book shut and swung to his feet, jerking Klara's focus back to him. The intensity of his gaze had passed, and he looked disdainfully bored once more. Klara set her jaw, sucking in a breath through her nose.

"I've brought the book you asked for," she said, only a slight tremor in her voice, "May I present it to you?"

Loki eyed her with a smirk.

"And how many others that I did _not_ ask for are you hiding from me?" he asked, gesturing toward the seemingly untouched books still piled haphazardly in the corner of his cell, "If I allow you entrance many more times, Mistress Klara, I fear my room might start to resemble the Great Halls of Knowledge above our heads..."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

The quip had left her tongue before she could think to stop it. She clamped her lips shut tightly, as if to prevent more words from escaping. Loki grinned.

"Times gone by, I might have said no," he said, "But now these empty pages do nothing but remind me of time wasted in their midst, learning of things I could never hope to achieve, filling my head with delusions and hopes of a future I could never have."

His speech had devolved into bitter soliloquy, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet pacing the bright floor of the cell, his outline blurred by the golden lines that held him captive. Klara knew, somewhere in her conscious thoughts, that she should not indulge this, this arrogant excuse for a tantrum, but something in her boiled when she thought of Lady Frigga's kindness and compassion for this man that she still called her son.

"You had _everything_ ," she said through gritted teeth, "And you threw it away."

"I had _nothing_!" he snapped, turning toward her with such venom that Klara actually stepped back despite herself, "I never did! It was all lies, political machinations, _my whole life...!_ "

Suddenly he pulled back, his feet snapping together, his eyes shut, dropping the snarl that had been curling his lip. He took a single deep breath and his shoulders settled, his head held high. When he opened his eyes again, all that remained was cool contempt.

"But I suppose I shouldn't expect a _serving girl_ to understand such things."

The words had been meant to sting and, despite Klara's firm resolve, she felt some part of their ice-cold edge pierce her. He turned and strode purposefully toward the back wall, slamming his back against it with such force that Klara actually flinched. He pressed his head against it, stark against the bright white shine, and shut his eyes.

"Leave what I asked for and go."

He did not open his eyes, not when Klara engaged the biolocks or when she pressed her hand to the golden barrier, stepping through in a flash of light. Not even when she lingered, just for a moment, her hand hovering over the red leather cover containing the words that, just a moment before, had stolen her breath and taken her somewhere far away from this. When she stepped through the barrier for the last time and the biolocks sounded their tone releasing him from his bonds, Loki still did not move, did not open his eyes. He only stood there, leaning rigidly against the wall, his face an impenetrable mask. Klara hesitated, some deeply ingrained instinct bidding her to wait, to sooth, to mend... but this was the Usurper, the tyrant, the mad, fallen prince of Asgard. He did not deserve her sympathy.

At the same time, that small part of her heart still beat out the words, almost in a cadence with the blood pulsing in her veins:

_He was once a prince... He was once a son..._

And in counter-harmony, the words of her mistress echoed back to her:

_Try not to be harsh with him, Klara..._

But she was already late. Andvari would be angry now, she would have to conjure a half-truth of some kind, sooth him somehow. She could wait no longer.

So that was how Klara left Loki Odinson, standing stiff and alone in his stark white cell, cut off from even the small bit of the world he had left. The image haunted her, even as she spun her mumbled excuses to a man too far into his cups to care terribly where she had been for so long. As the merry-making spun like a well-choreographed dance around her, all she could see were the words the once-prince had sent spinning through the air and made come to life in her mind.

_No knowledge she had where her home should be..._

In the midst of the crowd, the stale scent of loneliness filled Klara's nose, and for a moment, she found it very hard to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sources:**
> 
> Loki's recitation of the Norse creation myth is taken from a translation of the Poetic Edda, specifically the Voluspo section. I'm providing a link to the online translation that I used for this and all other references to the Poetic Edda throughout this fic.
> 
> [The Poetic Edda, translated by Henry Adams Bellows](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/)   
>  [Direct Link to Voluspo "The Wise Woman's Prophecy"](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe03.htm)
> 
> Loki is reciting from verse 5 in this chapter. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Klara didn't go back to the dungeons for a week. She made her excuses: her duties were too important to abandon, Andvari was assigned double guard shifts. But it was really Loki's dead expression that haunted her. She had no desire to return to that empty, sullen place. But return she did, late on the last day before she was due to report to the queen.

Klara walked softly through the palace, her eyes drawn to the stars beyond the windows, sweeping brush strokes of diamond dust across the deep violet sky, so beautiful and yet so distant. At the edge of the horizon she could just make out the remains of the bridge that had been destroyed over a year ago. Repairs were underway, using some source of power that Lord Thor had returned to them from Midgard, and the glow of that power thrummed through the bridge like a pulse, connecting Asgard to the observatory and the observatory to the rest of the realms. Everyone connected... everyone with a place...

_No knowledge she had where her home should be..._

Klara turned away, ignoring the pang of disappointment in her chest, treading the familiar path to the dungeon doors. The palace was quiet at this hour, still and calm, even the whisper of her slippered feet loud in the echoing silence. If this were an ordinary stroll, Klara might have found the quiet soothing, but the dread of her impending encounter made the silence seem dead, empty, and she moved through the shadows with the rush of someone with something to hide.

She approached the dungeon entrance and pulled up short. The man on duty was not Andvari, but still someone she recognized, one of Andvari's friends. He was bent over a bit of parchment in his hand, the moonlight gleaming on the helmet under his arm, and Klara briefly considered retreat. She could make her excuses to Lady Frigga, come back tomorrow... but some soft sound of her passing roused the guard's attention and he looked up. He had seen her. There was no help for it now. Klara straightened her spine and approached purposefully, as if she had not hesitated at all.

"Good evening, Daven," she said, politely.

He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, and Klara tried not to think of it as a menacing gesture, imagining fangs where there were none.

"Good evening, Klara," he said, inclining his head, "You're out late."

"The queen's business," Klara said, "She wishes me to report on the royal prisoner."

Daven's brow furrowed, his head tilted curiously.

"I thought your part in that affair was finished?"

Klara resisted the urge to bite her lip, choosing her words carefully.

"It is a minor thing, and there was no other to assign the task," she said, attempting a careless air to her words, "I do as the Lady Frigga commands."

Daven considered her for only the briefest moment, and then shrugged.

"As do we all," he said, waving his hand in front of the panel lock, "Proceed."

The door clicked open and Klara nearly thanked Daven, but he had already returned to the parchment in his hand and she decided not to risk rousing his attention again. She slipped past him into the inky darkness of the stairwell and the door slid shut behind her with a faint whump.

The lights in the cells had dimmed, but not gone out. Most of the prisoners were sleeping, but a few still prowled their enclosures, pausing long enough to leer at her, or make comment in unintelligible language. As always, Klara ignored them, walking with high-headed purpose toward her goal.

Loki was not on his settee. Instead he was seated on the floor, his back against the far wall, legs crossed in front of him, leafing through the black book she had brought him last, eyes scanning the pages with intense interest. He did not appear to have noticed her approach. Klara placed herself before the cell, poised with a straight back and locked hands, her eyes fixed on a point just above the prince's head. She waited a brief moment, and then opened her mouth to speak.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing _you_ again."

Loki's calm, bitter words froze Klara's own voice in her throat. She closed her lips and reconsidered her thoughts. Loki did not look up from his book. Slowly and methodically, he turned down the corner of one page to a specific point. Klara took a breath and prepared a fresh attempt.

"I have been tasked with..."

"Have you traveled the Bifrost?"

The query brought Klara's thoughts to a ragged halt once more. She saw a flash of that beautiful bridge, glimmering against the Sea of Marmora, the shining dome of gold where Heimdall the Watchman stood guard over the Nine Realms. She shook away the visions, places she had only ever seen from a great distance.

"No."

Loki looked up.

"No?"

His eyes pierced her and she stiffened, her expression rigid, fighting any hint of emotion that might reveal some hidden part of her. With precise care, Loki closed his book and set it aside, rolling to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion. He took a step or two toward her, his hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted to the side, considering. Then he stepped back and passed the fingers of his right hand through the air in front of him, as if he were painting a picture.

The empty space in the cell exploded in a waterfall of color and light. Klara took an involuntary step back, her eyes drawn to the energetic chaos rushing past.

"Behold," Loki said, clasping his hands behind him once more and strolling through the rush of color with a look of only mild interest on his face, "The Bifrost. A gravitational anomaly. A great gaping hole in the fabric of our universe, powerful enough to destroy entire planets if left to its own devices."

Klara stared at the vision Loki had created. It was blurred and indistinct, but so powerful that she nearly had to shield her eyes against it. If this was only the paltry shadow that her condition allowed, what must it be like to truly see it? To be _inside_ that pulsing center of power, to feel it pull at you and know you were completely within its grip, helpless to go anywhere but where it chose to send you?

Loki made a sweeping, sharp gesture and the motion froze in mid-air, making Klara's head spin for a moment. A dimness filled the cell, painted with vast swathes of the diamond dust that had seemed so far away moments before in the violet evening sky. Great swirling bodies spun and floated through the ether, barely more than faded images in her eye, but in her mind she could see them whole and solid, floating in the vacuum of the universe. A particularly large, lavender sphere floated within just a hair's breadth of touching the glittering golden barrier and Klara felt her feet draw her closer, like a moth to flame, desperate to soak up every moment of this vision, the shadows of beauty that she would never see for herself. She could feel Loki's eyes on her, but she didn't care, didn't care that he could see the wonder on her face, didn't care that he could see this hidden part of herself. It was the price she was willing to pay for just a few more moments of loveliness, to bring it just a little closer, to feel its vastness and its glory.

A small, red planet whirled by in a rapid spin and Klara watched with fascination as it shot past her and went hurtling toward Loki.

"Ah, Nidavellir."

He stepped nimbly out of the way as the planet spun past.

" _'Loud roar the dwarves by the doors of stone...'_ I wonder how Lord Eitri is faring without the Bifrost to protect him?" Loki mused, not with concern, but genuine curiosity, "Rock Trolls are dense, but surely they've figured out by now that no one is coming to the Dwarf-king's aide. And they've had their sight set on those forges for quite some time..."

Something of this rang in Klara's ears and her gaze finally tore from the constellation of planets and stars to stare at Loki. He was still watching the mad journey of the small red sphere across the back wall of the cell with a certain fascination that had nothing to do with concern for the planet's residents. She had heard something, some whisper in the courts, of Rock Trolls and Dwarves and something called 'uru' that she knew little of, only that it had something to do with Mjolnir, the mighty hammer of Lord Thor. The planet swung about once more, bringing Loki's gaze back to her. His eyes caught hers and he smirked.

"Oh you needn't worry I don't think," he said flippantly, "I'm sure my dear brother will have everything repaired and sorted before there's too much damage. Still, it might be interesting to let it play out. Have you ever seen a Rock Troll? Nasty creatures, but they have their uses. Not quite as arrogant as Dwarves, easier to deal with if you've got a firm hand."

Klara continued to stare at him, the wonder of the vision dissipating with every callous word. He didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, and there is Vanaheim!" he exclaimed, as a larger, greener planet made a slow, lazy turn past him in the other direction, "I wonder if the marauders have discovered that it too is unprotected? Ripe for the picking, that world, I imagine they keep a close eye..."

Klara watched, more with horror than awe as the dull green world slowly circled by. Vanaheim... She recognized that name...

"I imagine Hogun is chomping at the bit to be home by now, practically beside himself," Loki muttered, his brow furrowed, "I wonder if anyone has noticed yet, he's quite a stoic fellow, even on the best of days..."

"What will they do to them?"

Klara's voice cut through his musings and Loki turned back to her, really looking at her for the first time since he'd conjured the vision. It held no draw for her now.

"Sorry?"

"The marauders," Klara said, still staring at him, "What will they do to the Vanir?"

Loki quirked his head to the side, as if he had not considered the question before.

"Well, I imagine they will take everything they have," he said, as if commenting on the turn of the winds or the tides, "Pillage, rape, plunder, that sort of thing, most likely kill a few that are stupid enough to get in their way."

Klara shuddered and immediately regretted her lack of control. Loki stopped talking and stared at her, curiously.

"What did you think would happen?" he asked, "When my brother destroyed the bridge? Or did it never occur to you, so far beyond your realm of thought or possibility. There,"

He pointed to another system, three worlds, a jumble of purple, green, and blue, circling each other in some sort of mad dance.

"There rages at least three civil wars, if not more. The Badoon never could help themselves, pushing and pulling, struggling for power that they never really-"

"Stop."

Loki glared at her.

"Not talking about it, doesn't make it any less true," he snapped, "The World Tree does not just contain life and beauty. There is mischief and horror and death in every corner of Yggdrasil. That is the way of things."

"It doesn't make it right!" Klara snapped back, then clamped her mouth shut. She shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be talking to him like this, he was the traitor, the usurper, the destroyer of lives...

_He was once a prince... he was once a son..._

She shut her eyes tightly and took a shuddering breath. When she opened them again, the worlds had vanished. Loki stood alone in the emptiness, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him, no trace of expression on his face.

"What would you know of right and wrong?" he asked.

He strode across his cell and picked up the red leather volume, flipping through the pages until he found a specific passage. He began to pace, waving a hand in the air as he read aloud.

" _The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea,_

_The hot stars down from heaven are whirled;_

_Fierce grows the steam, and the life-feeding flame,_

_Till fire leaps high about heaven itself_."

His eyes met hers again, lit from the inside with the fire that he spoke of, his lips curled in some sort of snarling grin.

_"Ragnorak_ ," he spat and Klara cringed at the word, "The end of the world, everything burning and crumbling and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Everything leads to this moment, to destruction. It seems _wrong_ doesn't it? That everything should end in fire? _This_ is your wrong, yes?"

He didn't wait for her to answer, whirling to pace in the other direction, his eyes back on the page of his book, gripping it in a white-knuckled hand.

" _Now do I see the earth anew_

_Rise all green from the waves again;_

_The cataracts fall, and the eagle flies,_

_And fish he catches beneath the cliffs."_

_"In wondrous beauty once again_

_Shall the golden tables stand mid the grass,_

_Which the gods had owned in the days of old_ …"

The words rang in the echoing stillness of the dim prison. Loki had ceased his pacing. He touched the page of the book with slender fingers, brushing his fingertips along the lines of words. Klara thought he might have forgotten she was still there, waiting, not sure what to think or feel or do.

"Reborn," he murmured, a dim glow still shining in his eyes, "The World Tree made new from the ashes of the old, better, stronger, more beautiful."

He looked up and fixed her where she stood.

"And you speak of right and wrong," he said, his tone no longer harsh, just quiet, as if he had exhausted himself, "Out of wrong always comes right. There is strength in those who do what others see as 'wrong', for from their actions new worlds are born, stronger worlds, better worlds."

He gently shut the book and turned away from her, his shoulders rising sharply and then falling, as if in a deep breath. For a moment there was nothing but soft silence, the words reverberating in Klara's mind, a jumble of thought that she didn't feel prepared to tangle through, not with her heart racing and the blood pounding in her ears. She had caught a glimpse of something, something within the fallen prince, some glimmer of an inner working of his mind, something she was certain she had not been meant to see.

For a long moment, Loki did not move. Klara waited, her hands clenched tightly, fighting the whirl of her mind, fighting for words. But before she could gather herself, the prince turned his head, only his head, his profile outlined in the bright light of his cell.

"Go," he said, "Tell the Lady Frigga her kindness is no longer required."

Klara bit her lip, resisting the thought that came to her mind, the argument on the tip of her tongue. She had overstepped too often. So instead she dipped into a curtsy, perhaps a bit lower and more formal than she had previously allowed.

"As you wish, my lord," she answered, in a tone that was far gentler than she had intended. Before either of them could say more, Klara turned and hurried out of the dungeon, the jeers and taunts of the other prisoners only dull echoes in her ear, mounting the steps and emerging from darkness into starlight, feeling the weight of those stars shaping her into something, something new...

"What did he say to you?"

Klara jumped, her eyes finding Daven leaning in the shadows of the dungeon entryway, his easy smile lighting his face.

"Did he try to scare you?" he asked, not with concern, but with humor, "He does that sometimes to the guards, makes them think he's in one place and jumps out from another. He never speaks to us though. Thought he might have something to say to the queen's handmaid, seeing as Lady Frigga has such an interest..."

"He said nothing," Klara bit out, rather more harshly than she'd intended and Daven jerked back, his eyes wide. Klara attempted to rein in her temper, feeling exhausted by the effort, "He said nothing of interest, Daven. In fact, he spoke little at all. He is difficult that way."

Daven's eyes flickered over her face, but then he shrugged.

"Ah, well," he said, "Probably best. They say his tongue's as dangerous as his magic. Best to keep a distance from him, if I were you."

Klara nodded curtly, and then hurried on her way, her steps echoing in the empty stone halls, just as her thoughts echoed in her mind.

_And you speak of right and wrong..._

_Now do I see the earth anew..._

_His tongue's just as dangerous as his magic..._

_He was once a son..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sources:**
> 
> [The Poetic Edda, translated by Henry Adams Bellows](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/)   
>  [Direct Link to Voluspo "The Wise Woman's Prophecy"](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe03.htm)
> 
> This chapter references verses 48, 57, 59, and 61 (in order of appearance).


	4. Chapter 4

Klara slept badly that night and when she woke, her eyes gritty and her mind fuddled, she felt no closer to interpreting her thoughts than she had before. She finally sat at her desk to write her report to Lady Frigga, but for a long time she simply sat, staring at the holographic projection of a screen in front of her and the squares of light embedded on the desk's flat wooden top.

The desk was not particularly large, but it took up one whole wall in her small room, which made it seem more intimidating than it actually was. It had been specially constructed for her, a layer of thick glass overlaying the keys so they wouldn't flicker out when she tried to touch them. Klara was used to such considerations, deprived of most of the usual comforts and amenities that many in the palace took for granted because of the way her body reacted to certain things. It wasn't just magic. Most devices did not react well to her touch, key panels and the walls of the prisons being just a few examples. She tried not to think about it too much. But sometimes she couldn't help but wonder...

She shook her head and placed her fingers on the glass, inputting a standard header for a status report, her thoughts flitting through her mind as the phrases left her fingers.

"For the attention of the Lady Frigga, Queen of Asgard and the Nine Realms."

_Did it never occur to you, so far beyond your realm of thought or possibility?_

"In regards to her inquiry concerning Loki, prisoner of the Asgardian palace."

_He was once a prince... He was once a son..._

"Written and presented by her agent, Klara, handmaiden to the Queen and servant of the Royal Household."

_I suppose I shouldn't expect a serving girl to understand such things..._

"The status of which is as follows..."

Here, Klara stalled. Her hands hovered over the glass, the characters beneath her fingers glowing with a cold, bright light that seemed to mock her inability to put into words what she had experienced in the weeks preceding. Her thoughts moved and whirled like a wind on the sea, tossing her focus about like a small ship. She struggled for a moment, managing only to delete her few words and stare at the header again, as if it were deliberately withholding information. She furrowed her brow. Then, finally, she wrote:

"All has been received as expected, and the prisoner has requested no further action be taken. Will continue to monitor and report until otherwise instructed."

Hurriedly, she scrawled a finger over the glass to imprint her signature and with a flick of her fingers, sent the report out into the palace network, coded to be viewed by the Lady Frigga only, at her leisure. She sighed and sat back in her chair, feeling exhausted. There was nothing more to do, but wait.

She checked the time. She was not due to report to Lady Frigga's chambers for another hour. Absently, she began to straighten her tiny space, but there was little enough to be done in a room barely large enough to turn about in. She shut off her console and wiped the glass to remove finger marks and dust. She neatly tucked the sheets around her small bed, fluffing the single pillow that lay neatly at its head. She straightened the two books on the night table, a book of Vanaheim poetry and an old history text, so old it was written in actual ink rather than holographic text, making it easier for her to read.

She picked up this last book and turned it over in her hands, flipping absently through the pages, tamping down a remnant of hopeful warmth that threatened to swell up inside her. She had read it through three times already, she supposed it really was time for her to return it to the Halls, but still she hesitated. She had hoped, as she always did, that there would be something, some sign, some hint of another... another like her, someone with the same weakness, the same hindrance, the same fault. Someone who could not perceive the magic of the world, who could not use the power that flowed through the veins of the World Tree, who could not see the realms as she had so often dreamed of doing, but knew was impossible. The Bifrost worked on the same principles as Asgardian magic. For her to attempt to cross the realms in this way would be... unwise. At best, it simply wouldn't work. At worst... Well. She did not wish to die that way.

But as had been the case with the hundreds of books before, she had found no trace of anything to suggest that there had ever been one such as her. She had nearly given up all hope, resigned herself to the fact that she was incurable, that there truly were no others, that she was the only one of her kind in the universe. And then...

_An Abjurate…_

It was not the word itself that had intrigued her. She knew very well that Loki could make up any word he chose. It was the way in which he had said it, a hint of curiosity and even wonder. And he had said it with _meaning_ , like a word he had seen before. Which meant somewhere, moldering away in the dusty, neglected corners of the Halls of Knowledge, there might be some mention, some vague reference, some hint of _something_... something that said she was not alone after all.

There was a rap on the door and Klara jumped.

"Klara? Are you in there, girl?"

She smiled at the gruff, matronly voice and replaced her book on the side table before she rose to greet her visitor. An old woman dressed in a plain gray servants' tunic bustled in without waiting to be admitted, her long silver braid swinging behind her purposefully.

"Good morning, Elli," Klara said politely as she shut the door behind her, "What can I do for you?"

The old woman's sharp, beady eyes scanned the small room, her rough, worn hands planted firmly on her wide hips. Elli was the Head of the Royal Household, and had been old for as long as Klara could remember, but she had no recollection of her being in anything but perfect health and strength at any time. Some claimed that Elli had once challenged Lord Thor to a wrestling match... and won. Standing here in Klara's small room, looking as if the space could barely contain her, Klara could believe such stories.

"I have come to warn you of some disturbing rumors I have heard about the palace," Elli said, giving up her scrutiny of the room and turning her all-seeing eyes back on Klara, "There are those who wish to undermine your reputation by whispering that you now serve the _usurper!_ I don't know how such a falsehood could ever have been started, but I..."

Elli paused. Klara had winced at the sharp word, _'usurper'_ , and Elli had caught the movement. The old woman narrowed her eyes and the line of her mouth tightened.

"Of course it isn't _true,_ " Elli insisted pointedly, "Murderous _traitors_ do not receive servants, especially not one that I..."

But Elli paused again. Klara had worked very hard not to flinch at the word _'traitors'_ , but some small movement must have still shown on her face. Elli's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but then closed again. Klara did not wait for the old woman to find her words.

"The Lady Frigga insisted," she said, forcing the words out of her mouth as quickly as possible, "Knowing of my disadvantage, she seeks to keep him in check. She explained, I really am the only one for the job, so you see I haven't really been given any choice in the matter, I..."

Elli threw up a hand and Klara clamped her mouth shut, swallowing back the rest of the words that had begun to taste more and more of lies. Elli lowered her head, closed her eyes, hand still poised in the air, collecting herself. Finally the woman's nostrils flared and she exhaled sharply.

"You are, of course, required to obey the Queen's command," Elli said, but it sounded as if the words came through gritted teeth, "But you are not required to flaunt your new... _responsibilities_..."

Klara flinched again.

"...to the entire palace. You have been seen entering the dungeons on several occasions, under highly unusual circumstances, if Andvari were to find out..."

"He knows," Klara said, bringing Elli to another halt, "He was on duty my first day of the assignment. It couldn't be helped."

Elli stared at her for a moment.

"And he has allowed this to continue?" she hissed, her eyes burning, "He has made no formal complaint, no inquiry...?"

"You know he hasn't that authority," Klara answered softly, meekly, "But he has voiced concerns. I am doing what I can..."

"It is not _your..._!"

Elli bristled for a moment, and then sagged, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"My dear girl," she said, with a sort of gruff fondness that Klara was all too familiar with, "My dear child, you know how I worry about you, about your future."

"I know, Elli," Klara said, hanging her head.

"Your favored position with the Queen has eased my mind for some time now. But this?" Elli fixed Klara with a shrewd gaze, "I don't know what will become of it, child. I just don't know. And right as I thought Andvari might..."

Elli sighed again, rubbing her worn hands over her craggy face, and then huffing as if to expel any remaining hint of exasperation or distress.

"Well. It can't be helped," she said with a determined set to her jaw, "We'll simply have to make do. I will do what I can to quell the rumors, but you must do your best to maintain discretion. There must be no hint of anything but your duty, do you understand?"

Klara stared at Elli, shocked.

"But… I've _made_ no hint..."

"Do you understand, child?" Elli insisted, her eyes flashing.

Klara straightened instinctively, her eyes darting somewhere over Elli's right shoulder and fixing on a spot on the wall.

"Yes, Madam Elli."

The old matron nodded, her own back straight again, hands clasped behind her.

"Good. I will keep you informed of any further developments."

She swept forward as if to leave, but at Klara's side she paused. Then, almost hesitantly, Elli reached out and put a warm, wrinkled hand on Klara's shoulder, gripping it firmly. She said nothing and Klara did not react to the touch, unsure how she should react. It was the most affection the old woman had shown her in all the years she had lived under her care.

Then in a blink she was gone, swept out of the room as insistently as she had entered. It took a moment for Klara rouse herself and fasten the door behind her. Then she sat on the very edge of her bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes still focused on some point on the blank wall before her. It always took a few moments for Klara to relax again once the old woman had gone, and the unusual show of affection still tingled where Elli had touched her. She had raised Klara from infancy, but from the moment the girl could walk on her own, Elli had not once offered her any kind of physical comfort. Elli's affection had been in the words she used, the rare laugh she sometimes bestowed, the little acts of kindness done in secret that they never spoke of. The physical touch had rattled Klara far more than any words Elli could have said. The situation must be dire indeed.

Her desk console chimed. Klara glanced up. The holographic screen had blinked to life and soft, blue words scrawled through the air.

**Report Received. Personal Note: "** _**Thank you, Klara. Come and see me when you have a moment."** _

Klara's heart was suddenly pounding in her ears. The queen wished to discuss her report. A thousand things flew through her mind. She had not been detailed enough. She had not been insistent enough with the prisoner. She had not been as punctual as expected.

A line kept replaying in her mind, words added almost as an afterthought.

_Will continue to monitor and report until otherwise instructed._

_...until otherwise instructed..._

Perhaps the queen had determined that her services were no longer required. Klara's hands tightened on the edge of her mattress, but she was not certain whether the gesture was in hope...

...or dread.

She stood abruptly, as if the sudden movement might shake free the feeling in her chest, glanced down at her night table, at the history text that still lay staring up at her. She brushed her fingers over the leather cover, contemplating, and then let it lie. One more glance through wouldn't do any harm.

She slipped into the shining halls of the Imperial Palace the way one slips into the eddies of a well-known stream. The morning bustle of lords, ladies, and servants was soothing to Klara's nerves, something familiar, something she could navigate with little trouble, keeping her eyes down respectfully as she passed her betters, nodding and occasionally smiling at other servants and Einherjar. The mark of a good servant, Elli had told her more times than she could count, was that no one knew she was there at all. She should be as quiet and unobtrusive as a whisper of breeze through the curtains. Klara was particularly good at this. She had never longed for the attention of anyone, much preferring to keep herself to herself. It was easier for her, in more ways than one. When one's life was a mystery, it was difficult to explain oneself to others. Andvari was different, of course. He did not care where she came from, only who she was right then, and who she might be one day. It comforted her that he asked no questions about her past, as she had no answers to give him.

The royal family's private wing was separated from the rest of the palace by two large golden doors, intricately carved with a representation of Yggdrasil, the great World Tree. For the first time in the many years she had worked in the service of the queen, Klara paused and really looked at the tree, following the lines of the main branches carved with names and depictions of the Nine Realms, names recited to all Asgardians from the time they were small children. But she saw these realms in a strange, new way, not just names and carven pictures, but _places_ with people and dreams. She read 'Vanaheim' and saw a dark green planet whirling through space, surrounded by ships closing in. She read 'Nidavellir' and imagined groups of dwarves hidden away underground, terrified of the Rock Trolls gathering at their doorstep. She read 'Midgard', home of the mortals, betrayed by the man now held in their dungeons... the traitor... the usurper... the prince...

The door opened and Klara jumped. Lin, a small girl with olive skin and black, plaited hair, peered out at her with wide dark eyes, like the eyes of doe.

"Mistress Klara?" she asked in a small, timid voice, "Is everything alright? You are quite early."

Klara straightened, her hands settling behind her back where they felt most comfortable, but she offered the girl a kind smile.

"Yes, Lin," she said, "I was summoned by Lady Frigga. Do you think she has a moment to spare?"

Lin tilted her head to the side for a moment, but then nodded and pushed the door open a little wider.

"I'm sure you shall find her in her chambers," she said, "Come."

Klara slipped inside and almost immediately relaxed. The familiarity of the royal wing gave her a confidence that she knew very little of outside this place. She walked these halls with less anxiety and more comfort, as if walking the halls of her own home. She passed well-known doorways, some open, some shut. Lord Thor was clearly away, perhaps overseeing the reconstruction of the Bifrost, and there were at least five servants turning over his room, fluffing cushions, stripping the bed curtains, sweeping the floors. The door of deep, dark wood opposite was closed and Klara's eyes skipped over it almost instinctively. This room had been shut for so long that she wondered if anyone dared to look inside it any more. She was surprised it had not been repurposed in some way, but... perhaps they were frightened, too afraid of what they might find in the chambers of the traitor-prince of Asgard.

Through another set of golden doors, these with a round burning star at the center, were the chambers of the king and queen. The main sitting area, where honored guests and royal dignitaries were received, was a large tiled room, furnished with pastel couches and golden tables, and opened onto a sprawling balcony of white marble with pale curtains that fluttered in a soft morning breeze, just beginning to feel the touch of midday sun. Grand arches led off to either side and Klara chose left, instantly enveloped in the warmth that seemed to permeate every inch of Lady Frigga's personal chambers. It wasn't magic (Klara would not have felt it if it were), but some internal feeling of comfort that the All-Mother seemed to exude toward all that came into her presence.

Another of Lady Frigga's handmaidens, Fulla, a voluptuous brunette with sharp, green eyes, swept past Klara bearing a golden bowl of fruits out of the inner study. Klara allowed her to pass without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. Fulla had never much cared for Klara, convinced that she had done something untoward to gain her position, and so had been trying to undermine her for many years. She maintained a very high opinion of herself, and as such had never been very good as a servant, constantly inserting herself into things that were none of her concern in an attempt to curry favor with those far above her station. Klara had heard rumor that she once tried to seduce Lord Thor in his own chambers and had been summarily rejected, though no one could confirm it and the prince was too much of a gentlemen to give voice to such things. Klara briefly wondered if the rumors of her own involvement with Loki Odinson had gained life on Fulla's pursed red lips, but did not allow the resentment to tinge her heart. She could never prove that Fulla was involved at any rate, and it would not do to meet rumor with rumor. It would only give the other woman the attention she so desperately sought.

The Queen's study lay behind another beautifully carved wooden door and Klara hesitated a moment before rapping three times on the bright yellow wood. There was a pause.

"Come."

Lady Frigga sat at her desk, her back to the door, facing another balcony, the sun glinting on the white marble and drifting softly through the gauzy white curtains, touching the glowing bits of parchment scattered over the queen's keypad. Unlike Klara's desk, this keypad was embedded directly into the wooden top, right at the All-Mother's fingertips. Her holographic screen projected a list of scrolling numbers and messages that Klara did not try to decipher.

"You wished to see me, All-Mother?" she asked politely, her hands clasped behind her once more, her eyes fixed on a point just above Lady Frigga's beautiful golden curls.

The queen turned, a delighted but surprised smile breaking across her aging face.

"Oh, Klara!" she said, gesturing that she should approach, "My dear, I didn't mean for you to come so quickly. This evening would have been quite sufficient."

Klara took only a few steps toward the gesture, remaining a respectful distance from the queen.

"I had no duties keeping me," she said, "I was happy to come."

"Well, I'm glad then," Lady Frigga said, shuffling through some more parchments on her desk, "I'm ordering a requisition for a few more articles of furniture and I wanted to ask for your thoughts."

Klara did not visibly stiffen, but she did clench her jaw a bit.

_Tell the Lady Frigga that her kindness is no longer required..._

But how was she to convey this message, such a heartbreaking truth for a mother to hear, that her son no longer wished for her attention or concern? How could she possibly be the bearer of such ill news?

"Ah!" Lady Frigga proclaimed, separating a stack of parchments from the rest of the things on her desk and leafing through them, "Now, I had thought that a chair and small table might be good additions, but now I think that perhaps a desk might be more useful to him, he will want to send messages, I'm sure. Of course those shall have to be monitored, I'm sure he knows that..."

The queen flipped one of the parchment pieces over as if she thought there might be something of interest on the back, which of course there wasn't. The gesture seemed more of a nervous tic than anything. She flipped the parchment back over quickly, then dropped the whole stack into her lap and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"I just don't know," the queen said, sounding tired, "Too much? Too little? Perhaps I've overstepped already..."

Klara stood straight as ever and kept her eyes firmly on a point above and to the left of the queen's head. She didn't know what else to do. She had never seen the queen this way. Lady Frigga was always poised, gracious, effortless in all that she did. Klara had never seen her like this, so... mortal.

Finally, the queen sat upright, as if attempting to collect herself. She smiled at Klara, an expression that looked as if it were trying to be cheerful, but only seemed weary.

"So, Klara," she said, "What do you think?"

The question was so direct that it startled Klara into momentarily staring at the queen. Lady Frigga's deep blue eyes sparkled and her grin widened, taking a bit of the tiredness from her face. Klara's gaze flicked back to that point on the wall.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I don't know what you mean."

"I received your report of course," the All-Mother said, shuffling through a few more papers on her desk until she produced the correct one, glancing up with a sly smirk, "Very succinct."

Klara stood a little straighter and clenched her fingers a little tighter behind her.

"It's exactly what I would expect of an official report," Lady Frigga continued, setting aside her stack of parchments and clearing a space on her desk before turning back to Klara, her hands folded in her lap, "However, I am interested to hear a more... shall we say, _personal_ account of my son's imprisonment."

Lady Frigga glanced around her chamber as if searching for something, then flicked her wrist and a chair swept across the floor and clattered to a halt just within reach of Klara, making her shift a bit, anxiously. Lady Frigga graciously gestured to the chair.

"Please, sit."

Klara hesitated. In all her years serving the Lady Frigga, she had never once sat in her presence. It wasn't done. She was a servant. She stood or she knelt. Those were the two options. But the queen was watching her with kind expectation and it _had_ been an order. She was sworn to obey the Lady Frigga, no matter what she asked. Gingerly, Klara sat on the very edge of the cushioned chair, her back still straight, her hands first fidgeting and smoothing nervously at her tunic, and then clasped tightly in her lap in front of her. She was now eye level with the queen, making it very difficult to keep her eyes respectfully averted. She found herself studying her own knees with great interest.

"Now," Lady Frigga said, as if the whole matter was completely settled, "Tell me, what do you think of my son?"

Klara went rigid, her hands clenched together so tightly that her knuckles went white. She bit the side of her tongue, no words able to form in her throat.

"I know, of course, that you think him quite ungrateful," Lady Frigga went on, as if hoping to spur her into speech, "That was expected. He feels deeply wronged. I had hoped that some kindness might soften him a bit, but he will need time, naturally, it will not happen in just a few short weeks. Still... I had hoped..."

The queen's voice trailed off and Klara risked a glance up. She was gazing through the curtains again, into the brilliant blue of a clear sky, lost in some far away thought. Klara dropped her eyes.

"He is intelligent," she said, hesitantly.

She felt, more than saw, the queen's gaze slide back to her. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"He still holds himself as a prince, but he is... bitter," she said, "He frightens the guards for fun. He..."

She hesitated, her hands twisting in the hem of her tunic before she noticed and stopped.

"Go on, Klara," the queen said gently, "I wish to know."

"He acts much like a spoiled child," Klara said, forcing the words out, "Who has been sent to his room with no supper. But he reads like a scholar, and he speaks..."

Klara's voice trailed off. She could still hear his voice in her head, reciting the Poetic Edda in a rich, dark tone that had nothing at all to do with magic.

_Her right hand cast over heaven's rim; No knowledge she had where her home should be..._

"...he speaks with the silver tongue I was warned of," she said decisively, as if the tone of her own words could wipe away the warmth of the words in her memory, "When he chooses to speak at all. The guards say that he will not speak to them."

"But he speaks to you."

Klara stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Klara," The queen's voice was gentle, soothing, "I understand that the situation you have been placed in is delicate. And that, for several reasons, you cannot place any of these thoughts into official reports. But I want you to know that anything you say to me regarding this matter is spoken in the strictest of confidence. It will never leave this room. You have my solemn word."

Klara swallowed. The queen's confidence was a gift of which she was unworthy. How was she to be her trusted agent if she kept things from her, even to spare her feelings?

"He does not want your kindness."

The words left her in a rush, not bitter, not emotional, just words leaving her lips.

"He told me to tell you. I didn't wish to do it, but I feel I must, Lady Frigga. He does not wish for your kindness."

"And do you think he should get what he wants?"

The question startled Klara and she looked up again, meeting the queen's eyes. She was not heartbroken, or even hurt. In fact, she looked as if she had expected this. She waited with a patient expression for Klara to answer. Klara swallowed and forced herself to say the words.

"He is not worthy."

The queen's smile widened a touch.

"Are any of us worthy of the love we are shown?" she asked.

Klara opened her mouth, but then closed it again. She thought of Elli. Elli, who had taken her in as a baby, who had taught her everything she knew, who had loved her, in her own way, for as long as Klara could remember, for no other reason than that she had chosen her. She thought of that warm, wrinkled hand on her shoulder.

"Love is not a thing to be earned, Klara," the queen said gently, "It is a gift. We may choose how to receive it, but we have no say at all in who gives it to us, or why."

Klara's shoulders relaxed just a touch. She had delivered her message. She had done what she had been ordered. What Lady Frigga chose to do with the information was out of her hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.

"Now," the queen said, turning abruptly back to her desk and sweeping through the stack of parchments again, "Desk or chairs? Which do you think?"

* * *

"You are becoming an annoyance."

Klara ignored Loki's jab as she came to a crisp stop before his cell, the movers maneuvering behind her. He stood in the very center of the white floor, just as primly and crisply as she, eyes narrowed, his lips a thin line in his gaunt face. She felt a brief prick of concern ( _he's not eating enough...)_ , but quickly quelled it.

"I am come..." she began, but Loki interrupted her.

"Let me guess," he spit out bitterly, "On behalf of the Lady Frigga?"

Klara narrowed her eyes, but bit back any response to this jab.

"She has requested that this be presented to you," she continued instead, gesturing to the writing desk floating behind her, "If you will please step back..."

"And if I refuse?" Loki snapped, his eyes flashing. He had not yet moved one centimeter from where he stood, his back rigid, his shoulders tense, his expression growing angrier by the minute. But instead of fear, this did nothing but instill a sense of calm in Klara. Her expression remained passive, her voice steady.

"Then I shall call in the guards and they shall restrain you by force."

Loki's expression turned livid.

"You would _dare...?"_ he snarled, but it was Klara's turn to interrupt.

"You are a _prisoner_ , Lord Loki," she said, "How belligerent you choose to be in your imprisonment is entirely up to you. But I am sworn to Frigga All-Mother, Queen of the Nine Realms, and I will see her orders obeyed, by any means necessary."

She glared pointedly.

"Do not test me again."

The two exchanged heated glares, but after only a moment, Loki's demeanor altered drastically. He visibly sagged, his expression so profoundly exhausted that Klara herself nearly sagged beneath it. His head drooped and he waved his hand with a weighted weariness that tried to masquerade as carelessness.

"Do as you like," he said in a voice that smacked of defeat, "I suppose in the end, it matters very little."

He made his way to the far wall and, instead of leaning against it as he had in the past, he pressed his back to it and then slid to the floor, as if standing might take too much effort, knees pulled up to his chest, head leaned back, eyes closed. The biolocks clicked into place and the movers began their work, but Klara paid them little heed, keeping a wary eye on the prince. He never moved, never opened his eyes, not when the movers opened the glowing barrier to his cell, not when the gravity lift was maneuvered inside, not even when the barrier closed again and the tone sounded signaling that he was freed from his bonds. He simply sat on the floor, eyes closed, face completely devoid of expression, almost lifeless.

He really was quite thin. Certainly thinner than when he had entered the prisons, Klara was sure.

The movers shifted nervously, drawing her attention. She turned her head toward them and nodded once, dismissively. They hurried away with relieved expressions, the jeers of the other inmates echoing after them. But Klara hesitated. She turned back to the fallen prince of Asgard, still sitting in his cell, the methodical rising and falling of his chest the only indication that there was still life left in him.

She could hear Elli's sharp words ringing in her ears.

_...usurper... murderous traitor..._

_He was once a prince... He is still a son..._

"Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?"

Her voice was soft and gentle, even in her own ears. The prince shuddered ever so slightly and opened his eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, no expression, just searching her face for Klara knew not what. She allowed it, though she did not know that he would find anything of interest there. She was very little after all. Several moments later, he sighed and laid his head against the wall once more, his eyes falling shut as if the effort of having them open was too much to bear.

"No," he said, his voice a dull monotone, so different from the man who had not long ago recited the Poetic Edda with such fervor and passion, "There is nothing you can do."

She hesitated, waiting to see if there was more, some quip or jab he was reserving for the last moment, the perfect time. But nothing came. And she could not look at his gaunt face, his thin frame, his lifeless expression for even one more moment. She straightened her tunic and strode away, moving through the dungeon as fast as her legs would carry her, as if moving more quickly would somehow leave the vision of his defeat behind her.

But it didn't. The vision lingered long after she had left the dungeon, long after her scheduled duties to the Lady Frigga had concluded, and well into the night. At the tavern with Andvari and his friends, celebrating the restoration of the Bifrost, someone mentioned King Eitri and the dwarves of Nidavellir. A small red planet whirled through Klara's mind, highlighted against bright white dungeon lights.

_Loud roar the dwarves by the doors of stone..._

Someone else cheered the strength of the Vanir in holding off the marauders on Vanaheim. Klara could only see the green orb of light spinning in her mind and her eyes sought the quiet warrior in the far corner of the room, his eyes firmly on his cup, his expression intense.

_I imagine Hogun is chomping at the bit... I wonder if anyone has noticed..._

There were roars and cheers, and everyone laughed and drank, but Klara only stared at her mug, her fingers moving restlessly over the rim, her mind hearing words that echoed only in her memory.

_Not talking about it, doesn't make it any less true... so far beyond your realm of thought or possibility... The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea..._

_Ragnorak..._

_What do you know of right and wrong?_

"What is the matter with you?"

Klara jerked at the clipped, familiar voice, her eyes darting up. Andvari was glaring at her, his face a bright red but his blue eyes still mostly sharp. She resisted the urge to shy away from his gaze and smiled instead.

"I don't know what you mean, my heart," she said brightly. Perhaps a bit too brightly. Andvari's eyes narrowed.

"You were thinking of something," he said suspiciously, his words only slightly slurred, "Tell me."

Klara's heart thudded hard in her chest.

"I think of many things, dear one," she said, still managing to keep the smile on her face, "But my thoughts are never far from you."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, eyes still narrowed, but slowly the compliment worked its own special kind of magic and a smirk slowly replaced his scowl.

"That is good," he said, brandishing his mug of ale, "I feared your thoughts might linger elsewhere."

"There is nowhere else I would rather be," Klara replied affectionately, but one of Andvari's friends banged on the table and proposed yet another toast to the health of Lord Thor, the resulting roar from the crowd drowning out her words.

Klara raised her mug with the rest of them and drank, but Andvari did not notice. No one did. She was alone once more.

Alone with her thoughts.

* * *

_He floated in the void, cold emptiness blanketed in stars that played at being beautiful, but were too close, too sharp, too present. He shuddered, though the chill did not touch him. A voice, barbed and distinct, echoed in the void and in his mind._

_"If you fail..."_

_And then... pain. A searing, sizzling pain, not just in his body, but in his mind, his soul._

_"...there is no realm..."_

_The pain rippled through him, contorting his twisted body._

_"...no barren moon, no crevice… where he cannot find you..."_

_Laughter, high and cackling, low and rumbling, as the pain ripped through him again, and again, and again until his mind was screaming beyond the capacity of his voice. This was his life now. This was what his arrogance had bought him. This was the price of power..._

_"You think you know pain, Asgardian? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain..."_

Loki sucked in a gasping breath and shot upright, the book on his chest flying across the room and hitting the far wall with a sharp crack and a flutter of suddenly loose paper. He shuddered as the cool air of his dungeon cell brushed the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin. His sudden movement brought the lights up to full brightness, the white walls burning his eyes, and he flinched away. He did not know how long he'd slept. He never did anymore. He always felt so tired. But when he closed his eyes, when he drifted off...

That crackling voice... low, rumbling laughter...

_...there is no realm... where he cannot find you..._

Hurriedly, Loki placed an illusion around his cell, a vision of strength, of purposeful pacing, of hard-eyed glares that would invite no second looks. Then he curled up on the velvet settee, pulling all his limbs in tightly, and tried to stop the shaking.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Klara visited the palace kitchens. She had not set foot there since she was a child, but the smells of baking and fresh herbs were unforgettable. Klara discovered a smile tugging on the corners of her lips as she side-stepped a scullery maid, moving toward the back of the massive, echoing hall that served as the prep area for all of the palace meals. There was a scurrying busyness down here that was different from the busyness of the halls above. Above, Klara felt like a small cog in the workings of a very large machine, always turning, but never out of place. Here, it felt as if every spot her feet touched was exactly where someone else should have been at that particular moment, but they had graciously made way for her. A small child in plain garb darted out from between the work tables and skidded to a halt in front of her, staring with wide-eyed bewilderment, clutching a roll in her small hands. Klara's smile widened and she stepped nimbly out of the way as the girl rushed between her and the row of sweltering ovens, heedless of the heat. The hair at the base of Klara's neck was already beginning to stick, even though she'd pulled her hair up just for this occasion. She resisted the urge to smooth her hand over the fly-away curls that had already come loose and were threatening to cling to her cheeks and temples.

She passed through a marble arch and into a dim passageway, lined with doors to the storage areas. At the far end of the hall, as far from the bustling noise of the kitchens as possible, she knocked on a plain door of dark wood and waited.

"Come!" a hoarse voice called out.

Klara entered a small, cluttered office, though what it was cluttered with was not exactly what she might have expected. A forest of spears stood in one corner, their tips gleaming dully in the dim light of the few lamps that were lit. There was a crossbow and quiver on a large center table, piled over with rolls of parchment. The indeterminate fur skin on the floor that served as a rug was dirty and tattered, the shelves on the walls the only barren places in the room, and the desk against the back wall was far too small for the man that sat behind it.

Andhrímnir was large, even for an Asgardian, though not quite at a level with Lord Volstagg... yet. He had the build of a man who had once been well-tended and strong, but was now past caring about such things. His chestnut hair and beard were streaked with gray and his face bore a scar that cut from his left temple to his right cheek, bisecting his nose and giving him a fierce appearance that was only enhanced by the permanent scowl he wore.

In short, he did not look like the sort of man who worked in the kitchens. He was bent over his desk, scribbling furiously into a book of some kind, scowling down at his own writing as if it had given personal offense to his mother. Klara stood patiently with her hands clasped behind her and waited for him to finish.

His pen continued to scratch for several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Well?" he barked, turning a page in his book and continuing to scratch across the page, "You gonna just stand there or you gonna tell me what you're here for?"

Klara jerked, startled, but Andhrímnir did not seem to notice. His pen scrawled for a few seconds more before Klara finally regained her tongue.

"I... have come to inquire into the kitchen arrangements for the prisons."

"Same as ever they were," Andhrímnir said gruffly, still scratching away and not looking up at her.

"And that would be...?"

The scratching stopped. The pen still remained on the paper, but the ceaseless movement had... well, ceased. After a tense moment, Andhrímnir sighed and looked up at her through a lock of graying hair that had drooped down into his eyes.

"No chance of you just going away, is there?" he asked, with a reluctant sort of hopefulness in his voice.

Klara didn't answer. She had found that if she kept her poise with these types, eventually they would breakdown and she would get what she needed. She maintained eye contact and was pleased when he broke off first. He sighed again and dropped his pen, finally settling back in his chair and looking at her for the first time, scanning her from top to bottom.

"Alright, who are you here for then?"

"I come on behalf of the Lady Frigga," she answered primly.

Instead of provoking any sort of respect or awe, Andhrímnir only huffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Thought as much," he muttered, "It's about that traitor, I'll wager."

Klara stiffened, but said nothing. The man looked up and must have seen something of her frosty expression because he waved a hand in the air between them, as if dispelling any feelings that might have built up there.

"Now, don't go looking at me like that," he said, "I meant only the queen's got a soft spot, warm heart and all that. I figured it'd only be a matter of time before she noticed."

Klara narrowed her eyes.

"Noticed what?" she asked, sharply.

The kitchen head looked up again, his own eyes narrowed now.

"You mean she _doesn't_ know..." he murmured almost to himself.

"I have not yet mentioned the prince's condition to her, if that's what you mean," Klara said with a sharp hastiness, "I thought I might give you the benefit of explaining yourself first."

Andhrímnir's dark eyes roved over her face once more, shrewdly.

"Did you, now?" he asked, leaning back until his chair creaked, "Well, much obliged. But I'm afraid there's little I can tell you. We've been feeding him same as we do all the prisoners, morning, noon, and night. What he decides to eat..."

The big man shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Well, that's his affair, isn't it?"

"So you say he is refusing his meals?" Klara said, her mind working as the words left her lips.

"Starving himself, most like," Andhrímnir said, nodding, "We've seen it before. They always come round though, the lifetimers. Well, I say _always..._ "

He spread his hands, in a gesture of both helplessness and obvious unconcern. Klara narrowed her eyes. She did not think she liked him over much.

"May I see a list of what you have been preparing the prisoners?"

"Same as I prepare everyone else," he said, opening a drawer in his desk and rummaging through it, "They get what's left after the feasts have been sent up. Ah!"

He pulled a stack of parchment out of the drawer and dropped it on his desk with a dull thud.

"Here we are," he said, waving a hand at the stack, "The last month's worth of food portions. Take a look there."

Klara took a step forward and delicately ran her fingers through the top few pages. It appeared just as Andhrímnir had said: the prisoners were fed after the great feasts were prepared, morning, noon, night. She scanned over the selections, but saw nothing unusual.

"May I take these?" she asked, glancing up at the big man watching her with interested eyes, "I will, of course, return them."

He shrugged again.

"Suit yourself," he said, picking up his pen and starting back on his book of figures, "But you won't find anything."

Klara swept the untidy stack into her arms anyway. She would see for herself if she would find anything. She waited a moment, but seeing that she was not to receive any kind of formal dismissal, she bobbed a short curtsy (if only for herself) and left Andhrímnir to his work, anxious to be rid of the tiny office that was beginning to feel almost as stifling as the ovens. She had only a few hours before she was due in the Lady Frigga's chambers, and she wanted to look over as many of these papers as possible before then.

* * *

That evening, she finished her duties in the queen's chambers and left immediately for the dungeons. Andvari was taking an extra training detail, so she was unlikely to be missed. He was hoping for a spot on Lord Thor's raiding parties, organizing to meet the threats of unrest spreading across the Nine Realms. Klara caught a glimpse of the Rainbow Bridge through the window as she hurried by, glittering in the last glow of the evening sun. The newly constructed Observatory glinted at the far end, just waiting for a new wave of warriors and explorers to enter and take its power to new heights. Klara turned away. She was glad that the Bifrost was repaired. She heard whispers everywhere she went, of civil wars and marauders and turmoil among the peoples under the protection of the All-father. It was good that Lord Thor and Lady Sif and the famed Warriors Three would be taking their people out into the branches of the World Tree once more. But still... still...

Daven appeared to have just taken his post, his helmet still on his head, concealing his face almost entirely from view, but Klara could still hear the smile in his voice when she approached.

"Back again, Klara?" he asked pleasantly, "I thought surely by now you'd be taken off this detail."

Klara forced her own smile, but her hands clenched a little more tightly behind her back.

"It seems I am to be burdened for a little longer still, Daven," she said, "I wish to see the prisoner."

Daven shrugged good-naturedly.

"Ah, the burdens we bear for the love of our royal family," he said, waving his hand in front of the lock panel, "Good luck. If you need anything, just call."

Klara nodded, hoping that her smile did not look as forced as it felt, and slipped into the cool, quiet darkness of the stairwell.

She did not rush through the prison tonight. There was no need. She approached Loki's golden cell at leisure, first only seeing his doppelganger, the shadow of a man prowling in the bright white light, his back to her. She came to a slow stop, just at the corner, hesitating. His double paced at the other end and her eyes wandered the rest of the cell, a sheen of dense fog clouding her vision. Magic. She squinted her eyes, focusing her attention, and as the fog began to clear, she saw him. He was curled in a far corner of the cell, a book in his lap, the red leather book of old poetry. His limp hair had fallen over his thin face, though it looked as if he had tried to comb it into place. His clothes looked a bit big for his frame now. As Klara stared at him, she wondered how it was possible that she hadn't seen it before. How could she have been so incredibly stupid?

Suddenly, Loki jerked and his eyes flicked right to her. Klara straightened, almost on impulse, and she saw that the doppelganger had been the one to spot her, staring at her with an open snarl on his face that was not reflected on the face of its master. Loki's expression was more in the spirit of a startled bear, defensive and angry. With a flick of his wrist the illusion dissolved, as did the shimmering fog. Some sort of illusion, mostly likely to misdirect attention in some way. Klara had seen such things before.

The prince swept to his feet, though not as gracefully as he had done in times past, shutting his book and clutching it in his hands, tapping at the spine. The startled animal had vanished, replaced with an expression of frustrated annoyance.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth and even, "You are persistent, I'll give you that."

"I have been assigned to your care, my lord," Klara answered, carefully, "Until I am relieved of the task, I shall continue to come, as time and my other duties permit."

He paced toward the center of the cell and Klara followed him, their eyes never leaving each other. Even his skin looked thin, his lips pale, the place beneath his eyes an unhealthy shade of purple, those same eyes betraying a hint of the exhaustion she'd seen yesterday, an ever-present weariness that even his considerable snark could not hide. Klara swallowed, hoping that none of the emotions whirling within her could be seen on her face.

"You do seem rather..."

He hesitated and the smallest of creases appeared in his brow. Klara watched, waited, but nothing further followed. Loki frowned, a slight downturn of his lips and little more, but Klara could see it for what it was. Confusion. Loki Silvertongue had lost his voice. It took all of Klara's considerable control not to gape as her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She clenched her hands behind her to keep herself intact.

"My lord, Loki."

His eyes found her again, his head tilting slightly to the side, his expression passively blank.

"I have come to ask if the meals you've been served are to your liking."

His brow furrowed again, but it was accompanied by the smallest trace of a smirk now. His finger was still tapping incessantly on the spine of his book.

"What an odd question," he said, "The Lady Frigga bids you ask it?"

Klara made the mistake of hesitating. Only for the briefest of moments, but long enough for realization to bloom on Loki's face.

"You have come of your own accord..." he murmured, his eyes raking over her, "How _very_ interesting..."

"The Lady Frigga would want to know that you are well," Klara insisted, her tone smacking of desperate excuse, "She would wish me to insure that you are taken care of. I do not come on her express orders, but I come to see that her will is carried out."

Loki's smirk turned slightly feral.

"Is that so?"

Klara bit her tongue and said no more. She was furious with herself. She should not have come. She should have reported to the Lady Frigga and waited for instructions. She should not have taken matters into her own hands. It was foolish, stupid...

...dangerous.

"Perhaps another day, my lord," she said briskly, dipping her head in the quickest mock of a curtsy she had ever made, and turned on her heel to leave as quickly as possible.

"It is not the food which lacks in quality."

Klara stopped. She forced a look of disdain on her features before she turned back.

"What then?"

Loki's head turned in a little bit of a shudder, and his eyes fell closed. She could see the muscles of his jaw work beneath his skin.

"My appetite is... simply not what it used to be," he answered vaguely.

It was Klara's turn to twist her head in curiosity.

"You will forgive me, my lord, if that seems a poor explanation."

He grinned and opened his eyes.

"Yes," he said, "I suppose it does. Still, it is not lacking in truth. The food that is brought to me tastes of dust and the drink of stale water. I cannot bear to let more than a mouthful pass my lips."

Klara considered him for a moment, trying to gauge the truth of his words. She supposed that if he meant to end his own life, he could come up with much more effective ways than starving himself.

"Still, you must eat, my lord," she said, her voice losing a little of its harsh edge, "It will concern the All-Mother greatly if..."

"Her _concern_ is of no matter to me," he spit.

Klara stiffened, her jaw clenched. Loki had stiffened as well and they stood as mirror images of one another, hands clasped behind them, hard-edged stares in their eyes.

"Very well, my lord," Klara said, with a sharp twinge in her voice, "If there is nothing more-"

The prince let out a huff of breath and his shoulders sagged, his eyes falling closed with such suddenness that Klara feared he might fall into a faint. She even went so far as to take a step toward him, a hand half outstretched toward the golden barrier between them. But he did not fall. He swayed a bit on his feet, but he remained standing, barely. Klara quickly dropped her hand before he could see what she had done.

"No," he said, in a tone of weary defeat that reverberated in some deep part of Klara's chest, "No, there is nothing more. I did not think..."

He paused, swaying for another moment, and then passed a hand over his closed eyes.

"Just go," he said bitterly.

Klara hesitated, despite herself. He still looked dangerously close to falling and if she left and he fell into a faint... She spoke, just once more, in a soft, hesitant voice.

"My lord..."

"GO!" he shouted, turning on her with a snarl, his eyes flashing with fury.

Klara fled. Loki's eyes followed the girl until she was out of sight. Then, with a great effort, he replaced his doppelganger and returned to his corner, folding himself onto the floor and opening his book, staring at the words without seeing them.

* * *

"What do you mean he won't eat?"

Lady Frigga's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her lips pressed into a thin line. Klara managed to remain impassive under this intense gaze.

"He claims that the food does not appeal to him," she said, "I thought at first there might be some fault in the kitchens, some mistake in the distribution, or..."

Klara paused. She was hesitant to speak what had been her initial suspicion, that the cooks might be intentionally trying to starve the traitor prince in some sort of warped vision of justice. Especially since those suspicions had so far proved unfounded. She left the sentence hanging and went on.

"But I have inspected the kitchen schedule, the daily food distribution, even the menus that have been served, and all seems to be in order," She handed the queen the neat bundle of parchments from the kitchens, "I have spoken to Andhrímnir and he assures me that things are all as they should be. The prince simply refuses to eat what is provided to him."

Lady Frigga leafed through the stack of parchments, her eyes flitting across the words, her brow furrowed. After a moment, the queen's eyes strayed to the open window of her office, some distant thought drawing her attention away. Klara waited with her hands clasped firmly behind her. The queen's finger tapped rhythmically on the stack of parchment, a small gesture, but one that Klara noticed.

"Foolish boy..." Lady Frigga murmured with a sad sort of fondness, "Poor foolish boy..."

Her eyes cleared and she focused once more on Klara, a determined set to her jaw, though her expression was kind.

"Well," she said, "Something must be done."

She turned to her desk and flicked her fingers, bringing up a blank screen on her holographic console.

"Perhaps we cannot force him to eat," Lady Frigga said, her fingers flying over the keys as she filled up the screen with words and phrases, "But we can at least see that he is fed correctly. I will send this down to the kitchens, I would like you to see that the orders are followed. You'll have to be the one to bring them to him, I do not trust Andhrímnir to see my orders carried out."

The queen paused and glanced over her shoulder at Klara who was working very hard not to show any emotion at this news.

"It will cut into your regular duties, I'm afraid," the queen said, "I will see that it is taken care of."

"Pardon me, All-mother," Klara said, being very careful not to speak through clenched teeth, "But exactly _what_ duties am I being expected to perform?"

Lady Frigga gave her an apologetic smile.

* * *

That was how Klara ended up back in the dungeons a few hours later, a tray in her hands and Lady Frigga's words echoing in her head.

_Talk to him, Klara. Just... talk to him._

She still didn't understand why it had to be her. Well... she _did_ understand, to an extent, but that did not mean she was pleased by it. She schooled her features the way Elli had taught her, but still she feared it was not enough to hide her frustration and anxiety.

She approached the familiar cell and was surprised to see Loki standing, hands clasped behind his rigid back, waiting for her. His face was set into a glower that might have been more frightening if he hadn't been so thin. He might have even looked imposing, if Klara had not just seen him swaying on his feet. For a moment they simply stared at one another, Klara's arms beginning to ache with the weight of her burden, but she would not be the first to speak this time, not after the abysmal way he had treated her. She did not even want to be here.

_Just talk to him..._

But Klara stubbornly pushed the queen's voice from her mind and waited.

His eyes flicked over her, then down to the covered tray in her hands.

"I thought I made myself quite clear, girl," he snarled, "When I told you to go, I meant _go._ "

"And I obey your mother, Lord Loki, _not_ you," Klara snapped.

Well... not the most auspicious of beginnings. Klara shut her eyes and clenched her jaw, reining in her temper. When she opened them again Loki was still snarling, but his eyes were now on the tray in her hand, his lip curling with disdain.

"And what unwelcome gifts do you bear this time?" he asked, "Not more books, I see."

"No," Klara said, gripping the tray a bit more firmly, "But I am bid to deliver it all the same. If my lord will please stand back..."

He eyed the tray again with considerable mistrust, but surprised her by doing as she asked without further question or comment. The biolocks clicked into place and, balancing her tray carefully in one arm, Klara pressed her hand to the golden barrier and it flashed out of existence. She stepped over the threshold and set the tray on the desk (making a mental note, almost absently, to requisition a small table for the purpose in future, and perhaps a more comfortable chair), and lifted the cover. A wonderful, warm smell reached her nose and billowed out into the far corners of the room, chasing away the stale, dead air. She heard what might have been a sigh and her eyes flew to Loki, still resting against the back wall. His eyes opened, but he was no longer glaring at her, just watching, with the same cat-like intensity she had grown to expect from him in the previous weeks. The look was much more frightening with his sunken eyes and drawn in cheeks, his limp hair falling gently across his face almost without notice. Klara swallowed back her sympathy and spun on her heel, exiting the cell quickly and without a glance back. She spun just in time to see the wall snap shut behind her and released the biolocks. Loki rose from the wall and sauntered toward the desk, leaning over the tray from a distance, as if still wary of its contents. Klara saw his nostrils flare as he took a sniff, though no other sign of it was evident on his face.

"Broth and cheese toast," Loki murmured, his eyes still traveling over the tray slowly, methodically, "Mother used to have it called up from the kitchens when I was ill. She would sit by my bedside and..."

Suddenly he went rigid and straightened away from the tray. He turned on Klara with a vicious sneer.

"Oh, she thinks she's so _very_ clever, doesn't she?" he said, "Supposing that some old, dead memory of a childhood that never should have been will soften my soul? Make me into the lie they always hoped I'd be?"

"I do not think it is your soul that concerns her, Lord Loki," Klara said, in a cool, clipped tone, "The Lady Frigga has been informed of your condition and she has declared, in no uncertain terms, that you are not allowed to die."

This sharp declaration made the prince visibly flinch. Klara nearly flinched with him. This was so... _different_ from the man she had met just a few short weeks ago. At times he was nearly pitiable. She stood up a bit straighter in an attempt to conceal these feelings.

"What does she think, then?" Loki asked, eying the tray again, "That I will eat of her offering and suddenly be well? Does she think it is as simple as that?"

"I do not know," Klara answered truthfully, "But she is insistent that something must be done."

"And if I refuse?" Loki asked, his eyes fixing on her with a sort of wolfish glee, "What will you do then, the obedient servant?"

"Nothing."

Loki's head tilted curiously.

"But I must ask you this, my lord," Klara said, taking a step closer to the wall that separated them, leaning forward, "What good are you, to yourself or to anyone, if you are dead?"

His brow furrowed, his lips turned down in a frown, but Klara barely saw him. She turned on her heel, without dismissal of any kind, and strode away, her last words hanging in the air behind her. Her back was straight, her hands clasped, but inside, she was trembling. That had not been on her planned list of things to say. What had she done?

…and would it be enough?


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Klara returned to the dungeons with a new tray, only to stop dead in her tracks just a few feet from the stairwell. There, in full Einherjar regalia, glaring from under his gleaming helm, was Andvari.

She had been expecting this. Now that she was ordered to visit the prisons at least three times a day it was inevitable. But she had not expected it quite so soon. She swallowed and straightened herself, approaching the dungeon door with as much poise as she could muster. Andvari watched her approach with a cold, steely gaze, and for a moment they just stood, staring at one another in the deserted hallway, the early morning quiet ticking away from them. Finally, Andvari's eyes flicked down to her burden and his expression turned something just short of livid.

"So," he said, in a cold, clipped tone that did not match his face, "Now you bring his meals to him."

Klara tried not to flinch, but she wasn't sure she succeeded. It was difficult to tell if she was flinching or trembling.

"I..." she began, but her voice came out as only a small squeak. She swallowed and tried again, "The lady Frigga has ordered..."

Andvari's hand shot into the air, silencing her.

"Do _not_ ," he bit out, his fury finally seeping into his tone, "Throw the burden of this onto your duty. Are you a slave to the queen, that you have no say in your tasks? In what is _acceptable_?"

Klara did flinch then, unable to help herself against the fury of his words, soft though they were.

"Do you not see how this must look to others?" he hissed, leaning toward her. She dared not lean away, "Do you not know how the whispers already spread about you, growing like vines? Soon they will be long enough to..."

He cut himself off and leaned back, his eyes once more steely gray.

"You will return to the Lady Frigga and demand reassignment. _Today._ "

Klara felt a little jolt of panic, but she tamped it down hurriedly. She only nodded, her eyes cast down. Trying not to allow her voice to tremble, she spoke meekly.

"I am still ordered to deliver the tray..."

She could feel Andvari's anger, like a hot wind against her skin. She barely resisted shrinking back from it. After a tense moment, he nodded once, and threw his hand in a sharp motion toward the lock. It clicked and the door swung open in a much calmer manner than the gesture had suggested.

"Go," he said curtly, "But remember what I said."

Klara nodded again and hurried away, the tray in her hands rattling slightly with every step she took down the slick stone steps. More than once she feared she might slip, but she managed to make it safely to the corridor floor, hurrying toward the gleaming white prison cell, her mind racing even faster than her feet. What was she to do? She could not abandon her mistress, not when this was so clearly important to her. But she could hear Elli's words echoing back to her:

_...and just when I thought Andvari might..._

Might... what? Klara thought she knew. But if she continued down this path, a path filled with harsh words and impatient glowers, she knew that nothing would ever come of it, of any of it, of Elli's hopes for her, of her hopes for herself. When had she so thoroughly lost sight of all she had wanted? Those things seemed so dull now, like a dream she had woken from, fading away and ridiculous in its lunacy. How could she have ever hoped that someone, _anyone_ might... well, _anything_ with her? Even her position with the queen could not hide the fact that she was... _different_ from other Asgardians. Her embarrassing condition was constant proof of that. She had tried to compensate, in obedience, in her work, in her every waking moment she endeavored to be more than what she had been born to. But always it lingered, everywhere, in the kitchens, in the libraries, even in the rooms where she served, constant reminders that she was different from the others. If only she knew why...

She had reached Loki's cell almost without realizing it. He was watching her from the center of the room, back straight, hands clasped behind him, a small smirk on his lips. For a moment, Klara could only stare at him, lost for words in the maelstrom of emotion swirling inside her head. Loki quirked his head to the side, his brow slightly furrowed.

"Why Mistress Klara," he said, in a tone of faux concern, "You seem troubled this morning."

And then she remembered where she was. Her emotional barriers came screaming up around her, and she straightened with an intensity that almost made her spine snap into place.

"No, my lord," she replied haughtily, lifting her chin, "I'm afraid you are mistaken. If you would please step back."

Loki grinned and Klara realized with a jolt that he seemed in much better spirits this morning than he had the night before. He stepped back and allowed the biolocks to lock him into place.

"I do hope you've brought lefse," he said with a mockingly conversational tone, his head leaned back on the wall, his eyes closed, "If we're taking a stroll down memory lane that would be a favorite."

Klara hesitated, tempted to speak, but thought better of it and instead entered the cell silently, leaving the tray in the same spot as the night before. She removed the cover and a warm, sweet smell filled the cell.

"Ah," Loki sighed, sounding nearly content except for an edge of smugness, "Honey porridge. Well, I suppose that would do as well."

Klara said nothing, turning to collect last night's tray from where it had been left beside the settee. It was empty, the toast gone, the bowl wiped clean. She allowed herself a small, pleased smile, but then quickly wiped it away. She should not be pleased. She should not be anything. She should not _feel..._ She slammed the lid back over the empty tray and turned on her heel, barely restraining from slamming her hand against the golden barrier. She hated it. She hated the magic that so thoroughly vexed and frustrated her daily existence. She hated Loki and his appearance that she could not help but pity. She hated the life that she lived, always striving to be better and always falling short. She hated that she did not know herself, could never know herself because her parents had the indecency to leave her on someone's doorstep as a squalling infant, to be raised by strangers in a world that did not belong to her.

The barrier snapped shut behind her and the tone sounded as she released the biolocks, but Klara did not turn to face the cell. She remained where she was, trying to relax her shoulders, to steady her breathing, to school her features before she faced the prince's sharp gaze again. She had to be careful. She had to remember who she was speaking to.

_Traitor..._

_Usurper..._

_Prince..._

_Son..._

Her breathing calmed and her heart stopped pounding. She took one more steadying breath through her nose before she turned.

Loki had not moved. He was watching her, his gaze sharp and inquisitive, the tray on his desk clearly forgotten.

"Something _is_ troubling you, isn't it?" he said, no hint of a smirk on his face now, "But you won't tell _me_ , of course you wouldn't. Still, I wonder..."

He slipped off the back wall and edged a little closer, his feet gliding over the smooth white floor of the cell, his eyes fixed on her. Klara did not back away. She stood her ground and met his eyes and willed her face to show nothing, to give no clue...

"What troubles _you_ , Lord Loki?"

He jerked back, staring, and Klara stared back, her mouth still a little agape from the shock of the words that had just left it. She quickly closed it up again, but for a moment they only stared at one another. Then, before Loki could speak again, Klara thought of Andvari, waiting outside, likely checking the time, making certain she didn't linger. She dropped a short curtsy as more words fell tumbling from her mouth in a heap between them.

"I... I will inform Lady Frigga of the lefse, good day my lord."

She spun and fled the dungeon, her feet flying over the flag stones, her head in more of a rush than it had been when she'd entered. She could not linger, she could not stay to hear his answer, to hear any answer to any question she might ask him, if she dared...

_...an Abjurate..._

She fled up the stairs, and almost forgot the tray in her hand until Andvari grabbed her arm as she rushed past, nearly dislodging it from her grip.

"Remember what I said, Klara."

Before she remembered herself, Klara shot him a glare, much like she reserved for Loki. Andvari jerked back, his face a mask of startled fury. His grip on her arm tightened until it pinched and brought her back, reminded her that she was not this person outside the dungeons. She was meek, she was soft, she was obedient. She dropped her eyes and relaxed her tense muscles. Andvari's grip on her arm relaxed too, until finally he let her go.

"This has not been good for you, Klara," he said, his voice now kind, concerned, "I worry about you, about what this continued influence might do to you. I only want you to be safe. You know that."

Klara sighed and felt even more of the anxiety and anger drain from her.

"I know," she murmured, "I know you do. I will do my best, Andvari."

"I know you will."

He took her chin in his hand and lifted her eyes to his. They were soft now, like gray velvet and his smile was gentle.

"Tell me what she says," he said, "When you make your request. Tell me what she says and we will work together to free you of this. I promise."

Klara nodded and managed a small smile, but inside her stomach had clenched into several painful knots. Andvari released her and she dropped her eyes again, slipping away into the quiet morning, beneath the silent pillars, back toward the kitchens to return the empty tray.

* * *

"You have encountered opposition."

Klara swallowed hard, but did not answer. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on a point just above the All-Mother's head. The queen sat at her desk, hands folded, staring determinedly at Klara, eyes narrowed, as if she might be able to see right through her if she only concentrated.

"Someone you know," the queen said slowly, "Someone whose opinion you value. Possibly someone you care about."

Klara stiffened, but still did not speak. Lady Frigga did not make it a habit to inquire into the personal affairs of her servants. She did not know Andvari, except as a palace guard. Finally, after several moments, Lady Frigga sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Yes," she said, sounding tired, "I suppose it was only a matter of time, I had hoped we would have more... but we must go on, I suppose."

She sounded resignedly resolved and Klara felt her heart start to sink. She had hoped... what, exactly? She did not even know. Some sort of resistance? A bit of a fight? Some way to postpone, to hold back, to prevent...

"I am naming you the head of my household and my personal lady-in-waiting."

Klara jerked and stared down at the All-Mother, straight into her clever blue eyes, all thought of decorum and obedience vanished and be damned.

"What?" she blurted out, dazed.

Lady Frigga's expression was sly and quite pleased.

"Let the naysayers say what they like now," she said, "You've more than earned the position. And under my direct and all-encompassing command, any order I give you cannot be questioned. You can hardly decline the position..." She leveled a playful mischievous grin at Klara, "...though you may try, if you wish."

She paused. Klara gaped for a moment, completely abashed. She was being offered the highest ranking position in the queen's household, a place reserved only for her most trusted subjects. It was often a place given over to lesser nobility. Not to foundling servant girls. Some small part of her knew the gossip-mongers at court would be beside themselves for weeks, perhaps _months,_ at this strange turn of events, but that was certainly the least of her worries. Fulla would be nigh impossible to deal with now, but again, Fulla was relatively low on her list of concerns. Elli would be suspicious, but she was unlikely to question the appointment too closely, for fear of bringing anything to light about Klara that might be considered unfavorable and therefore depriving her of the security Elli had so long worked to ensure. But Andvari... It would never work. He might be pacified for a time, perhaps using her new-found position to secure a better position for himself, but eventually... Or... Or perhaps...

Klara met the queen's eyes again, this time with purpose rather than flabbergasted awe.

"I accept the position, All-Mother, and gladly," she said, and Lady Frigga smiled, "However..."

Klara hesitated, suddenly unsure. She had no doubt that her request would be granted. It would be no trouble at all for the queen. But something within her, some tiny voice, whispered that if she took this path she could never return to the life she had led before, to those dreams that were fading further and further into the distance of her mind, being steadily replaced by gleaming white walls and glimmering golden light.

The queen's smile turned inquisitive.

"What is it, dear?" Lady Frigga asked, "What troubles you?"

Something inside of Klara shifted. Something in the words, in the way they were spoken... spoken by a different voice, but with the same hint of concern coloring the tone.

_Something is troubling you, isn't it?_

Her arm twinged where Andvari had grabbed it and she resisted the urge to tug at her sleeve. And then she decided. She could not go back.

"I have one request to make, my lady, if I may?"

Lady Frigga nodded, and the deed was done.

* * *

When Klara met Andvari for the noonday meal, she told him the wonderful news, of how pleased the Lady Frigga had been with her service, so pleased, in fact, that she had been offered a new and more prominent position in her court, the head of her household, a lady-in-waiting. And just as his eyes had begun to narrow, just as she sensed he was on the verge of asking what these new duties might entail, she gave him the best news of all: a roll of shiny parchment, embossed with his name in a script that glimmered with brilliant colors the moment it left her hand. His new commission. He was now under Lord Thor's command.

And his battalion left for Nidavellir in the morning.

Andvari was so anxious to report to his new commander, so filled with thoughts of battle and glory, that he barely spared another thought for the frivolous duties of a simpering lady-in-waiting. Klara watched him leave the great dining hall with something verging on nervous anticipation. It would not be the last time she would see him. There would be revelry at the tavern tonight, all of his friends celebrating his good fortune, and of course she would see him off in the morning, watch him ride across the Rainbow Bridge toward the gleaming new Observatory, watch with jealous awe as the Bifrost opened for him, carrying him to faraway lands she could never hope to see, to save a people she could never hope to know, from creatures she knew she would never encounter.

But for now, she was alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her kind betrayal of a man whose only sin had been trying to protect her from the monster that lurked beneath their feet.

Quietly, she cleared away their lunch things and made her way down to the kitchens to fetch Lord Loki's lunch tray.

* * *

"So," Loki said, from his place locked against the far wall of his cell, "What have you brought me now? It is not a stuffed boar, or it is a very small one."

Klara's jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed but she did not rise to the prince's taunt. She only pressed her hand to the barrier and watched it flash out of existence, never taking her gaze from him. His eyes flashed with the barrier and some sort of gleeful delight curled his lips, but he quickly quelled it. She stepped over the threshold and his eyes never left her, even as the barrier snapped back into place. He followed her with an almost unnerving intensity as she placed the tray carefully on the desk and lifted the lid to reveal a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and a hunk of bread. His nose lifted to the air and he sniffed.

"Ah," he said, his smirk widening, "We have moved on to one of Mother's favorites. She always was trying to get me to eat more greens."

Klara did not answer, though she bristled with indignation at the flippant and callous tone with which he referred to his mother. She was sure his sharp eyes could not miss the signs of her displeasure each time he spoke this way, and yet he persisted, almost certainly hoping to provoke her. So she ignored him, and instead moved to collect the morning tray. It was not empty as the last one had been, half the porridge remaining, but it was obvious an effort had been made. And he was clearly feeling well enough to make quips. That was enough for now.

She turned and exited the cell, the dull tone echoing against stone as Loki was released from the biolocks and approached the tray, leaning over it with a sniff. Klara straightened and clasped her hands more firmly on the empty tray.

"If there is nothing else, my lord..."

"I do not sleep."

Klara's mouth snapped shut. Loki wasn't looking at her, still making a show of inspecting his lunch, but his fingers were tapping anxiously on his clenched fist behind his back. When she did not answer his brow creased in a small expression of frustration and he whirled away, pacing the length of the cell swiftly back and forth, his eyes roving everywhere but still not meeting hers.

"You asked what was troubling me," he said shortly, "I do not sleep. The food is adequate, the drink enough, the books fine diversions," He waved a hand carelessly in the direction of the untidy pile still heaped in the corner, his pacing growing quicker, almost frantic, encompassing every inch of his cell, "But I do not sleep. Ever since I have come here I can find no rest within these _accursed walls!_ "

He slammed his fist into the golden barrier with such force that Klara jumped. The crisscrossed light sizzled and then flashed, tossing his hand back at him, throwing his thin frame back a step into the room. He glared at the barrier as if it had assaulted him, and not the other way around. Klara stood silently where she was, the tray in her hands nearly forgotten. He closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose, relaxing his fists and clasping his hands behind him once more.

"So," he said, no trace of the frustrated anger in his voice any longer, "Now you know."

Klara hesitated, tightening her grip on the empty tray.

"I... can ask for a requisition for a more suitable bedding arrangement, if you think..."

He snorted and turned away, his fingers once again tapping an agitated rhythm against his hands.

"And what?" he asked, "You will return with a rug next? I asked for a bed, you gave me this."

He waved his hand at the crimson settee.

"Granted, better than the boulder I was provided with, but still I..."

He paused, drew up short, swayed momentarily on his feet again. Klara resisted the urge to step forward.

"My lord?"

He turned his head back to her, just so his profile was visible.

"Go," he said, "Leave me. I would be alone for a little while."

Klara dropped a slow curtsy, not certain that this was the correct action, but knowing there was nothing else to be done. She took her leave of him, but the words he had spoken echoed in her mind, repeating with the cadence of her steps on the stone.

_I do not sleep..._


	7. Chapter 7

Despite Klara's report to the All-Mother on Loki's condition and request for better sleeping arrangements, the requisitions were slow in coming. Klara filled the intervening days learning her new duties as the head of Lady Frigga's household, and always, the bright white walls and flickering golden lights of the dungeon glimmered in the corner of her mind's eye, flashes of long, dark hair and haunted, weary eyes.

Her mind was so occupied that Andvari's absence did not trouble her thoughts quite as much as perhaps it should have. He was a good soldier, she knew he would be safe, but there was always the slim chance he wouldn't return. This should have worried her, but instead she could not help but hope that during this separation perhaps he might come to see her new duties as a privilege, not a punishment.

The effects of Lord Loki's sleep deprivation soon began to make themselves painfully apparent. His eating habits would marginally improve, only to wane again a few days later. He soon became nearly lethargic, sometimes not even bothering to lift himself from the floor when she approached, sitting near his haphazard pile of books, his back to the bright white wall of his cell, merely leaning back to allow the biolocks to click into place. The dark, sunken circles beneath his eyes seemed permanent now, his hair lank and starting to curl where before it had always been sleek and smooth. His skin was thin as paper, so thin Klara thought she might see right through it if she only stared long enough, and more often than not she left his cell carrying a tray laden with barely touched foods. He ate enough to keep himself alive, it seemed, but little more. He was erratic (more than usual) and quick to anger (again, more than usual). Klara frequently left his presence seething, only to realize shortly afterward that the words he had spoken had not really made any sense. He had just been shouting to shout at her. Somehow this always made her feel a bit vindicated, lending her the poise she needed to return to the cell with a stony expression and cold demeanor that was often no longer necessary. He would be slow, lethargic, and apathetic once more.

The queen's expression grew more and more disturbed with each report, but there was little she could do. Odin All-Father had apparently gotten wise to his wife's schemes and was now actively blocking her requests in regards to the prisoner. Klara feared that if Lady Frigga pushed too hard, too fast, the king might even ban her own entrance to the dungeons in a fit of righteous indignation. This fear was never as apparent as when Klara entered the royal sitting quarters and unintentionally overheard the raised voices of the king and queen echoing against the tiles.

"I did not know when you sentenced him to imprisonment that it was only a much longer, crueler death sentence," Lady Frigga snapped, her voice freezing Klara in her tracks, "I might have just let you kill him and be done with it."

"You treat him like a child that needs to be nurtured!" Lord Odin shouted, "He is grown now, Frigga! You cannot protect him from the person he has become! He has done this to himself!"

"I don't believe that!" Frigga shouted back, "You've seen him, Odin! Is that the boy we raised? Is that the man we sent into the realms to protect our people? Is that the _son_ you knew? Something _happened_ to him out there!"

"He would not have _been_ out there were it not for his own stubborn pride and foolish ambition!" Odin countered, "This is of his own making!"

"But it's not!" Lady Frigga insisted, _"You_ are the one who planted that ambition, when you thought that he might...!"

" _Enough_."

The word was cold and sharp, and Klara flinched, her heart pounding in her throat.

"You will stop this foolishness at once," the king said, his voice quiet, but insistent, "He is not your son. He is no longer an errant child to be coddled and catered to. He is a prisoner, a traitor to the realms we are sworn to protect. That is the end of it."

Klara withdrew into the shadow of the archway just as Lord Odin stormed out of the queen's chambers, keeping her head down, her eyes firmly on the ground, hands clasped behind her, using everything that Elli had taught her to appear as small and unobtrusive as possible. She held her breath as the king passed and did not let it out again until his footsteps had faded down the long corridor. She leaned back into the corner and closed her eyes, her head throbbing. There would be no more requisitions. What did this mean for her, for her position? She had not been mentioned, but her constant attention to the prisoner was certainly one of the 'coddling' actions that were meant to cease.

Klara steeled her heart and her expression before she slipped into the queen's quarters, intentionally making a bit of noise picking up a bowl of fruit and setting it back onto its tray.

"Klara?" the queen's voice called from her office, "Is that you?"

"Yes, my lady."

Klara straightened her tunic and strode into the softly lit room. Lady Frigga was sitting at her desk, pen in hand, no hint of the argument on her face save for a more determined set to her jaw and a gleaming, sly look in her eye. Klara loved the queen a little then and it took every ounce of her self-control not to smile.

"Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?"

"Yes," the queen said shortly, swiveling back to her desk, "Yes, as a matter of fact there is."

She scribbled a note onto a sheet of parchment and folded it up, handing it to Klara.

"I want you to go into my son's room and strip his bedding."

Klara blinked.

"But... doesn't Lord Thor have his own..."

She trailed off. Lady Frigga was grinning like a cat that has a mouse trapped in a corner... and the mouse has not yet realized it. Klara saw Loki in that expression and it was strangely unsettling.

"No," Lady Frigga said, her blue eyes glinting, "Not _that_ son."

* * *

Klara was amazed at the superb simplicity of it all. She wasn't certain it would work, it was so little really, but when she thought of Loki's haunted eyes and gaunt face, she realized that she was willing to try anything, _anything_ to make this torture cease. What horrors must plague his mind, that he could not quiet himself for even an hour's rest? Surely, even for crimes such as his, it was too cruel.

She hesitated before the black carven door, a door that had not been opened in more than a year. It loomed over her, a great barrier that seemed to suck in all light that touched it, trapping it, never to be seen again. The carving in the center of the door showed the curved ram's horns, the fallen prince's symbol worn on his golden ceremonial helm. Two snakes twined together in the branches of the world tree in the background, and a wolf lay at its roots. It was an elaborate picture, though Klara could not begin to fathom its meaning.

Her hand reached for the curved handle, carved of black shining onyx. Until now, she had always felt certain that this door would be locked, ever since the great betrayal of its occupant. But as she turned the cool stone in her palm, the latch clicked and the door swung open smoothly on well-oiled hinges. For a moment, Klara lingered in the hallway, staring uselessly into the shadows beyond the threshold. Then she straightened her spine, set her jaw, and stepped through the door.

There was no light beyond what filtered in behind her from the hallway. Klara blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Several shapeless forms loomed out of the dark and for a moment she froze, unsure of what she was seeing. But as her eyes adjusted further, the shapeless forms became sheet-covered bits of furniture. She fumbled for a moment in the doorway, searching for a light of some kind, and found a lamp, but when she searched for a knob or switch to light it she found nothing, only smooth metal. Magic. She took her hand back in a sort of angry disgust. Everything in this room would probably reek of magic, if she could sense it in any way. Which she couldn't.

She clenched her jaw and took another determined step forward. More pale, shapeless forms appeared, but she didn't flinch away. She could see a path now, crossed by her own shadow, a path cut through a layer of thin dust on the floor where things had been moved recently. Her mind flashed to the prison cell, to the settee and the desk that she had brought the prince as consolations. So, the room had not been as deserted and shunned as she'd supposed.

She ventured in further, not daring to remove the covers from the items she found, but shrewdly guessing at the contents, a lounge chair here, a long, low sitting table there. She came upon what looked to be a straight-backed chair and a small table set together under a thin sheet and thought back to her planned requisition for something to set the prince's meals on. Would anyone even notice if she just... She brushed a hand against the gray sheet, and a light flutter of dust puffed into the air and coated her fingers. Her nose twitched and she stepped back, narrowly suppressing the urge to sneeze. No, she dared not try to move anything here on her own.

As she moved deeper into the large sitting room, the light from the door grew fainter and fainter at her back, but her eyes adjusted and she could see the far right wall coming slowly into view. A dark rectangle cut the wall and she had nearly run into it before she realized it was another black door, this one simply carved with smooth clean lines that seemed to aid in the sucking in of light. She touched the dark wood and it slipped away from her, opening silently onto a yawning blackness that even her rapidly adjusting sight could not penetrate. She took a step inside the unlit room.

She was enveloped in darkness for only a moment, staring into the emptiness. Then gradually, a dim light began to rise in the smallest of increments, brightening the room around her with a soft golden glow. _A movement detector_ , she thought. One of the few devices she could use, since all movement was detectable, even hers. The glow lifted the shadows, but it could do nothing for the gloom which seemed to cling to every surface of this place like a film. There were more sheets covering shapeless objects, a large blank portion of one corner that had been recently disturbed (perhaps the desk had come from here) and on the far wall, square, plain, and uncovered, the outline of a bed.

It was unadorned and simple, not the elaborate four-poster monstrosity that she had been picturing in her mind. Low to the ground, gently curved legs of dark wood, dressed in rich greens and gold, all covered in a thin layer of gray dust. Klara stepped toward it and the light brightened marginally. The same smell that filled her nose when she entered Loki's prison, that stale, lonely smell, was lingering in her nose. It clung to the room like cobwebs, like the dust that covered the furniture and floors. Perhaps it lived in the dust. Perhaps it lived only in her mind.

Klara shook away these thoughts and turned up her sleeves. There were many things to see to before dinner was served.

* * *

It took a full day for the laundries to beat over a year's worth of dust out of the bedclothes, but by the next morning Klara found herself carrying, not just her usual breakfast tray, but also an armful of soft green linens and a well-worn woven blanket, depicting a white wolf curled upon a black background.

Lord Loki sat curled in his usual position on the floor, close to his stack of books, one in his lap that he clearly wasn't reading. His dull eyes stared blankly somewhere into the middle distance, his face smooth, expressionless. He jerked when he heard her approach and the constant illusion he kept in his cell these days floated away with his loss of concentration. He sat up a bit straighter and at least made an effort at appearing nonchalant. He even grinned.

"Ah, Mistress Klara," he said, his once smooth, silky voice slightly hoarse, "What have you...?"

He paused and his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on the bundle in her arms.

"What is that?" he whispered, his voice a badly controlled mixture of desperation and disbelief.

"Linens, my lord," Klara said, her voice gentle and kind, despite herself, "The Lady Frigga thought these might bring you some comfort."

His eyes remained fixed upon the bedclothes, his brow still furrowed, head slightly tilted, as if trying to work out whether he were about to be tricked or trapped in some way. Klara waited, feeling a swell of patience that she knew would not have been possible for her even a few weeks ago. But a few weeks ago he had not needed patience. A few weeks ago his mind would have been seven steps ahead of hers, working out what path she would take before she had made even a single step.

A few weeks ago he hadn't been dying.

Finally, still looking slightly perplexed, Loki leaned back against the wall and allowed Klara to engage the biolocks. She stepped through the golden barrier with practiced ease and approached his desk. She had yet to see anything written on it since she'd brought it in, but it worked very well as a place to relieve her burdens. She set down the breakfast tray (lefse, which had been clearly decided as Loki's favorite meal, he always ate at least one full cake), and then set to work draping the bedclothes over the settee. They were too big, of course, but she managed to tuck away the edges efficiently enough. She had managed to bring along an extra pillow and placed it at the head of the couch. Then with a quick flick of her arms she spread the wolf blanket, smoothing it neatly with her hand, and stepped back, hands on her hips, to survey her work with a smug sense of satisfaction. It looked much more like a place to be slept in now. She bent for last night's supper tray...

...and caught Loki staring at her. His eyes were wide, but his expression was blank, too blank, the face of a man concealing his thoughts but far too tired to replace them with something else. She stopped and stared at him too, some of the pity she had been trying to suppress welling up inside her.

_He was once a prince..._

_He was once a son..._

She quickly straightened, tray in hand, and hurried out of the cell before he could catch some glimpse of what she was feeling. He would be so angry if he caught even a hint, and she did not want to ruin this day with anger. She schooled her features carefully as she released the biolocks, then turned back just as he was slowly getting to his feet. He ignored the tray on his desk (which she had forgotten to uncover in her haste to escape), and instead shuffled toward the bed, his eyes fixed very decidedly on the woven wolf. He reached out a thin hand, trembling slightly, and brushed his fingers over the white creature.

"Mother..." he whispered, almost reverently.

Klara froze, barely daring to breathe. She had never heard him speak of Lady Frigga with anything less than contempt. To hear this... Something inside her warmed and she tried desperately to tamp it down. She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the tray in her hands, a bowl of stew trembling upon it that looked as if it hadn't even been touched. Her heart ached and she hated herself for it. Loki only continued to stare at the blanket, fingers tracing the pattern absently, his eyes very far away.

Not willing to break this moment, Klara curtsied very softly, only to herself, and slipped away, speaking not a word, only daring to stride at a normal pace when she was well away from the bright golden glow of the cell.

* * *

Loki realized, in a snap of clear-headedness, that he had completely forgotten about the girl, standing just beyond his cell, waiting, as she always did, for her dismissal. But when he finally set his features and turned his head, he found that she had gone. For a moment he thought perhaps she had just moved out of his line of sight, and he turned this way and that, trying to locate her. But she was no longer in the dungeon. It was strange, but not strange enough to merit any more than a moment of his precious concentration. He closed his eyes and focused, managing to conjure his doppelganger once more, though not able to make him do more than sit and stare at a book, not even turning pages, just reading the same words over and over again. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could smell the faint hint of lefse coming from under the cover of the breakfast tray. The smell meant almost nothing to him, but he knew that he must eat. The girl's voice echoed in his mind, as it did on an almost constant loop these days.

_What good are you... to yourself or to anyone... if you are dead?_

The girl might be an insufferable annoyance, but he could admit that she had a point. If he died here, Odin would get exactly what he wanted, for Loki to spend the rest of his life in this cell. But if he lived... Well, life was full of endless possibilities.

He stared again at the blanket now covering the settee, trying to move himself in the direction of the food on his desk. The wolf was bright and stark against the black background. It looked just as it had the day he had been given it, nearly a thousand years ago, when he had moved from the nursery to his own rooms in the royal wing. He could still remember Mother's face as she had spread it across his new bed and smoothed it down, as Klara had done only a few moments before.

' _She will keep you safe,'_ she had said, ' _A wolf always looks after her pups. No matter where they are.'_

Suddenly he felt a white hot burst of rage and he tore the blanket back, flinging it crumpled to the foot of the couch. Keep him safe? When had he ever been _safe_ , a monster among gods, an impostor in his own home? When had she _ever...?_

A stab of pain pierced his head and he shut his eyes against the light that was suddenly far too bright. He sagged, but there was nothing to catch him and he nearly stumbled. He could feel his doppelganger flickering and he pressed all his concentration to it until it settled again. He was too tired for this.

He turned from the now untidy bedclothes and walked with a deliberately slow step toward the desk. He settled himself on the accompanying stool, lifted the tray cover, and methodically began to eat. He consumed one mouthful of lefse after another until he could not stomach the thought of even one more bite. He looked down. He had barely touched half of one cake, three more still steaming on the plate. He carefully covered them again and pushed the tray back on the desk before making his slow, deliberate way to the back wall, intentionally ignoring the settee in the periphery of his vision. He approached the haphazard stack of books and picked one at random. Of course it was the one on the top of the pile, and so it was the same book he had been reading for days. Or rather just staring at. Lately, his mind was too erratic for reading, his thoughts like little flocks of birds whizzing about his brain, never settling in one place.

He curled up in the corner and opened the brown leather cover to a random passage, staring at the words, watching them swim in strange configurations against the parchment.

Something was hovering just out of his line of sight. He told himself it was nothing, but after only a few moments his nerves could stand it no longer and he jerked his head up irritably.

It was only the settee. The splash of rich green where there had once been only dark red was like an eyesore, drawing his attention like a moth to flame. He tried to ignore it, unwilling to approach the source of his irrational fury, to give it the satisfaction of knowing that he could do nothing to vex it or harm it in any way. But it was no good. The bright swath of color irked him to the point of boiling rage. He slammed his book shut and tossed it rather violently toward the others, sending the precarious stack toppling further into the corner. A few of the spines bounced along the golden barrier and he jumped, which only made him more furious. He flew to his feet with more strength and speed than he had believed he possessed, and stormed toward the offensive furnishing. But once he was there that piercing pain lanced through his head again and he stumbled, flinging out a hand to catch himself, but there was nothing to support him. He ended up half sprawled on the couch, the pillow brushing the top of his head, his feet still dangling just a few inches from the floor, his eyes screwed shut against the horrific light that was stabbing his skull like a searing knife. He curled inward and tried to breathe. The pain finally subsided, but he did not dare open his eyes again. It was enough that he could still breathe. He lay there, as still as possible, just breathing and waiting for the lights to dim...

_The laugh echoed in his mind, the dark, rumbling laugh. He sat bolt upright, panic flooding every atom of his being, but he was not in the cell in Asgard. He was among the cold, hard stars, and the asteroid rock formations were biting into the skin of his back, the metal of his restraints cutting deep, round shapes into his wrists where they hung above him, and he felt the searing_ _**PAIN** _ _lash through him like a thousand, sharp, thin swords, into his body, into his mind. The Other, the one that served The One, was speaking in that high, raspy voice that came from everywhere and nowhere._

_"There is no realm... where he cannot find you..."_

_The low rumbling laugh echoed again and pain sliced him open, cutting him from the inside..._

_"Stop."_

… _the girl. The voice of the girl, so clear, so present that he opened his eyes to find her, but there was only..._

_...a wolf. A great white wolf standing before him, her hackles raised, a growl rumbling in her chest. And Loki heard another voice, a voice from long ago, soft and gentle and always kind._

_"A wolf always looks after her pups... No matter where they are..."_

_"Mother..." he whispered hoarsely._

_The wolf snarled. And then she leapt into the dark with a vicious snap of her jaws, and as Loki whirled through this haze of shadow and nightmares, whenever it felt as if the pain would overwhelm him, the girl's voice, Klara's voice, called out of the void and the wolf was there._

_She was always there._


	8. Chapter 8

When Klara came again, bearing the lunch tray, Loki was asleep. His brow was furrowed deeply and occasionally he twitched, but he was most definitely asleep. Klara hesitated, reluctant to wake him, but also reluctant to enter the cell without the security of the biolocks. She watched the prince's face closely for several long moments and, though his expression was troubled, he did not stir. The lights in the cell were dim, sensing his sleep pattern. And she was skilled in the art of speed and stealth. It would only take a moment.

Decided, she placed her hand gently on the golden barrier and it fell away with a flash. Silently, with one eye fixed on Loki's unmoving form, Klara slipped across the cell and slid the tray soundlessly onto the desk, leaving the lid over the food for now. He could lift it when he woke, it would keep the broth warm in the meantime. She straightened and turned to go...

Across the cell, Loki shuddered and curled inward. Klara froze, her eyes fixed on his huddled form, heart racing, until he settled again uneasily, his expression still troubled. Klara's eyes darted to the foot of the settee and she saw the blanket crumpled there.

It was a stupid impulse in hindsight. But some deeply ingrained part of her, the instinct to nurture and serve those in her care, drew her on, slipping silently on soft feet, until her fingers grasped the edge of the blanket and began to slowly, gently, ease it over Loki's sleeping form. He stirred again, murmuring in his sleep, and she froze once more, hardly daring to breathe. But again he settled and, halfway through the act, she could not bear to leave it now, unfinished. She eased the blanket up a bit farther, just past his shoulder, and let it flutter gently around him. She took a shaky breath and turned to go...

A cold hand snatched her wrist and she gasped, whirling back. But Loki was not even looking at her now. He was staring at his hand, still fixed to her wrist, a hand that, even as they watched, was slowly turning blue. Klara stared, fascinated, as the enchantment that had surrounded Loki every day, every _moment_ of his life started drifting away, revealing intricate patterns of raised lines along his ice blue skin, spreading from his fingertips and growing up his forearm, up his elbow, snaking beneath his shirt sleeve, wisps of color beginning to curl around his collarbone...

He flung her hand away as if it burned him.

"Get out," he said hoarsely, staring as his hand as the blue retreated back beneath the spell that held him.

Klara felt frozen, transfixed by what had happened. She had known... but she hadn't _thought..._

"Get _out_!"

Klara jumped at Loki's hoarse shout, nearly tripping over herself, her heart in her throat, remembering suddenly where she was and the terrible position she now found herself in. She took several more hurried steps backward and her back slammed into something solid. The golden barrier. It vanished with a brilliant flash and Klara stumbled at its sudden absence, falling backward through the now open cell and hitting the hard flagstones on her back, knocking the breath from her. Gasping for air, she scrambled away, as far from the opening as she could manage, her pulse pounding through her whole body, as she waited for the barrier to recover. It seemed to remain open for ages and ages. Finally the golden wall snapped up again and Klara managed to suck in her first deep breath, feeling light-headed.

Loki did not seem to have noticed any of this. He was still glaring at his own hand, as if it had betrayed him in some way. And briefly, Klara supposed that it had, in a strange sort of way. His fist clenched and his jaw tightened.

"Leave," he ordered.

Klara managed to get to her feet, her legs only trembling slightly.

"My lord, I… I didn't..."

"I said," he bit off, throwing her a cold, unfeeling glare, "Leave me."

Klara felt her back snap straight despite herself. She recognized the order of a prince when she heard one.

"My lord," she said formally, dipping a curtsy and turning her back to him.

Once she was safely within the palace halls, Klara found a small, hidden alcove that only the servants were privy to, and she slid to the cool, marble floor, her head in her hands, allowing the tension and fear to finally shake itself out.

* * *

Once Klara had managed to get a hold of herself, she was nearly late for her duties. She headed for the queen's chambers, her now clearer mind churning. Despite her error in judgment, she was still eager to tell the Lady Frigga what she had seen. The prince was _sleeping_. Not well, and not deeply, but still, she had seen him sleep. All-Mother would be very pleased.

She entered the queen's quarters just as Fulla was taking her leave. The tall, pretty woman stalked past Klara, glaring as she passed, but Klara did not speak to her. Fulla had been livid over Klara's apparent rise to power and influence in the court, even though Klara had not used her supposed 'influence' in any way (unless you counted Andvari's commission) and she had no intention of doing so. Really, the position was just a name, one that Klara had not even particularly wanted. But this, Klara suspected, more than anything infuriated the other maidservant to the point of irrational rage. She had taken to spreading rumors about Klara's involvement with Lord Loki among the other servants, purely out of bitter spite. Klara knew this because Elli told her it was so, had begged her to speak with the Lady Frigga about it, and Klara had promised that she would try. But it was a promise she had not kept. There was no one else for the job and Klara knew it. Especially now, with the prince in such a delicate state, a sudden change just might kill him. Klara knew he was a prisoner, that he had done terrible things, but she was still not quite willing to be the cause of his sudden death.

So she allowed Fulla to pass, tossing her long, luxurious chestnut hair haughtily as she did. Klara did not meet her eyes or acknowledge her in anyway. Once she was gone, Klara moved into the queen's private sitting room, straightening pillows and rotating the fruit in the bowls scattered about the room as she waited anxiously for the Lady Frigga to emerge or to ask for her.

"Klara?" the queen finally called from her office, "Come here a moment, would you?"

Klara set down the bowl she had been shining, stuffed the cleaning cloth into the pocket of her tunic, and entered the Lady Frigga's office. The queen was reading a parchment and she looked up smiling when Klara entered, waving the paper in the air.

"You might be interested to know that we have received the first reports of the Rock Troll rebellion on Nidavellir," she said, sounding pleased. Klara stood a bit straighter and clasped her hands behind her anxiously, "The first skirmishes have gone very well, few casualties on either side, and my son tells me that your young Andvari has handled himself honorably and well. The prince is most impressed with his enthusiasm and skill."

Klara allowed herself a small smile. She had known Andvari would do well in battle. The queen glanced back down at the parchment, her eyes skimming over the words.

"It seems they are closing in on the heart of the rebellion and they expect that the conflict will be at an end in another few weeks, and the leaders brought to Asgard to seek justice."

Klara swallowed, a knot of anxiety in her throat. Only a few weeks? Would that be enough time to...?

"And Thor is so very impressed with Andvari's service that he is considering leaving him to oversee the reestablishment and continued protection of King Eitri and the Dwarves!" The queen looked up, grinning at Klara, "Isn't that wonderful? He must be quite a soldier, your Andvari."

The knot of anxiety disappeared, replaced by a surge of relief that Klara felt more than a little guilty for. She returned the queen's smile.

"He is, my lady," she said softly.

"Well," Lady Frigga said, folding up the parchment neatly and putting it away, "I'm sure you'll receive your own letters in due time, but I'll be sure to keep you informed."

Klara doubted very much that Andvari would remember to write to her. He would be far too busy with his important new responsibilities to give her more than a passing thought. But she continued to smile at the queen anyway.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Now," the queen said, clasping her hands in her lap, "What about the other matter? Tell me how things are in the dungeons today."

Klara told the queen what she could. At the last moment, she chose not to mention that she had entered Loki's cell while he slept, or anything of the last moments of their encounter. The queen was delighted to hear that the prince had been sleeping, slightly disappointed to hear that he had not eaten well, and even more so to hear that he had been woken so easily (Klara said that her footfalls must have woken him), but all in all she seemed pleased.

"You have done very well, Klara," The queen said, her face a mixture of gratitude and relief, "I cannot thank you enough for your service. If there is anything at all I can do for you, I hope you will not hesitate to let me know."

Klara dropped her eyes to the floor respectfully.

"I want for nothing, my lady," she answered truthfully.

"That is good," the queen said, "I know this has been difficult for you. Rest assured that I will protect you in any way that I can."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Now, I believe it is getting close to supper," the queen said, turning back to her desk and riffling through a few papers, "I will let you return to your duties. If anything changes, please let me know."

"Yes, my lady."

She dipped a small curtsy and turned to go.

"Klara..."

She paused and turned back.

"My lady?"

The queen studied her intently for several seconds. Then she shook her head, as if shaking away a stray thought.

"Nothing," she said, turning back to her desk, "Never mind. Carry on, my dear."

Klara hesitated, then curtsied again and slipped out of the room.

She finished what she could in Lady Frigga's quarters, and then passed the All-Mother's care to Lin, nodding and smiling to the girl as she met her in the entrance hall, both of which Lin returned, but hesitantly. Klara wondered if Fulla had not gotten to the girl as well. It would not be surprising. After all, Lin was barely more than a child, easily influenced and deceived by those she perceived as her betters. But still, Klara felt a twinge of regret at the thought of Lin's loyalties turned against her. She had grown to rather like the Vanir girl.

She collected her tray from the kitchens, a bowl of hot stew and a hunk of bread, and made her way toward the dungeon, a knot forming in her stomach. Lord Loki had shouted at her in the past, of course, but she had always been safely on the other side of the golden wall. This had been... different. Frightening, not just because of his proximity, but because when she had looked into his eyes, she had not just seen anger. There had been a glimmer of something... something she thought might have been fear.

The guard took only a cursory glimpse under the tray cover before he let her pass. They were used to this by now. She barely got more than a passing glance these days from the prison guards and the prisoners paid her no mind at all. Her feet carried her down the quiet, dim corridor far more quickly than she would have liked and suddenly she was standing before the prison cell, peering through the mesh of golden light.

He was awake. Loki sat in his normal spot beside his pile of books, which looked even more haphazard than usual, his eyes flitting across the pages of a small blue volume. There was a long moment of silence. Klara waited, gripping her fingers around the tray a bit more tightly to keep them from trembling. He knew she was there. His doppelganger was nowhere to be found, no illusion blanketed his cell. He knew she was there and was intentionally ignoring her.

Klara found herself staring at him as she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. He looked... better. He had combed his hair so that it was smooth again, his clothes, though still baggy, had been straightened, and he held himself rigid even as he sat on the floor, his legs stretched out before him, crossed at an almost jaunty angle. And most encouraging of all, his eyes were fully focused on the page of his book, rather than on the air in front of it, flicking over the words that were written there. Klara resisted the urge to smile, even a little. Lady Frigga would be _very_ pleased.

Lord Loki touched the tip of his finger to his tongue, and then flipped a page. Klara swallowed and still waited. Slowly, he placed the book on his knees and, without looking up, placed his hands on the floor by the back wall, a position favorable to the biolocking mechanism. His eyes were still darting over the words, paying Klara not the slightest bit of mind, and clearly not intending to.

After another moment of waiting, Klara straightened herself and engaged the biolocks with deliberate purpose, before slipping through the cell wall and depositing her tray on the desk. She gathered the lunch tray, and also the tray from breakfast which she had forgotten in her haste that afternoon. She was pleased that they both felt much lighter than she had expected, and involuntarily glanced toward the back wall. Loki still had not looked up, though his eyes had stopped flitting over the words and instead fixed to a point at the corner of the page, his lips a thin, hard line. Klara swallowed and dropped her eyes again, gripping the trays more tightly in her arms and hurrying once more out of the cell. She waited a moment more once she'd released the biolocks, waiting to see if _now_ he would say something, speak some word to her. But he only touched his finger to his tongue and turned another page, his eyes once more flitting over the words of his book. Klara felt her shoulders sag a bit, but she quickly straightened them, set her chin, and whirled around, striding off with her head high.

The trip out of the dungeon seemed to take much longer than the trip in. It seemed a year before she finally stalked out of the door without even a backward glance at the guard. Fine. If he wanted to be that way, that was just fine. They didn't have to speak. In fact, she preferred it this way. If he didn't speak, there was less chance of his deceiving her. He hadn't, of course, not yet, but she was sure the time would eventually come. It was in his nature after all, to betray, to deceive, to...

She huffed and her footsteps quickened. It was fine. Perfectly fine, in fact. He could sulk like a child if he wished.

At least he was eating again.

* * *

It lasted a little over a week. Each time Klara returned to the dungeon she resolved herself to stoic silence, and each time she left it again she was more irate than the last. Loki looked and seemed better with each passing day, but that only meant he was able to put even more thought and effort into vexing her. It didn't take much on his part, of course. He used his books as objects to hold his attention at first, but he soon dropped even that pretense, staring blankly at the walls or the ceiling with an impassive expression, as if he were simply contemplating the meaning of existence rather than pointedly ignoring her. His only acknowledgment of her presence was that he did not bother to use his magic, but as soon as she turned to leave, his illusions returned in full strength.

Klara's breaking moment came when she least expected it. She had brought the noonday meal, and as usual he was waiting for her, already leaned against the wall, waiting for the biolocks to engage. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and completely relaxed, as if he had just happened to light there on a whim. Klara narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She entered the cell and set his tray down with a slight clatter. She gritted her teeth and took a breath through her nose, soothing her frayed nerves. She gathered the (mostly empty) breakfast tray and stalked out again, pressing the button to disengage the biolocks with slightly more force than was perhaps strictly necessary.

The tone sounded, releasing him, and as she always did, Klara waited to see if he would acknowledge her. He opened his eyes, but did not look at her. He did not even look in the direction of his lunch tray. Instead, he sauntered over to the settee (quite untidy and clearly well slept in, Klara noted) and flopped down upon it, hands behind his head and back clearly to her.

Something inside of Klara snapped.

"I already knew, you know."

She was so unused to hearing her own voice down here that the sound seemed strange and warped in her ears. She saw Loki stiffen. Her fingers tightened on the breakfast tray.

"I had seen it before."

Loki sat bolt upright and whirled to glare at her. She nearly took a step back from the force of his anger, but she managed to remain where she was, her jaw set stubbornly. He was looking at her. That was a start. She waited a moment to see if he would speak, but when he only continued to glare, she drew herself up a bit.

"When I was a child," she said, "I saw you. Elli, my guardian, she deemed it time I be acquainted with the royal quarters, in preparation for my training in service. And I saw you, you and Lady Frigga."

She trailed off for a moment, her eyes unfocused, remembering. It was a memory she had worked hard to forget, but had never quite managed. It had always lingered, somewhere in the back of her mind, waiting, perhaps for this very moment...

"It was from a distance. We would never have approached, of course, it wasn't our place. Never our place... but I didn't know... couldn't have known, not then..."

Her eyes snapped back into focus, but Loki wasn't glaring anymore. He was watching her curiously, waiting.

"I asked her why you looked that way," Klara said, decisively, "Elli didn't understand, of course. I tried to explain it to her, but I was only a little girl. I didn't know what I was seeing. I..."

She hesitated, remembering what came next vividly and horrifically, with the embarrassment of a child.

"I must have gotten quite upset, spoken too loudly. Lady Frigga heard, and she knew what I was seeing, of course, knew what it meant. She came to our quarters that evening, and I heard her speaking to Elli. She said that I was special. That I had a _gift_."

The word came out bitterly and Klara swallowed.

"I never saw you like that again," she said in a rush, as if the words might cleanse the bitter taste from her mouth, "There was always a haze about you afterward, but I never saw through it, never saw..."

She hesitated again, biting the inside of her cheek, searching for words.

"The _monster_ ," Loki bit out savagely, "The _nightmare_."

Klara blinked at him.

"The beauty," she whispered, "You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Loki flinched as if her words had struck him and he snorted. Klara suddenly realized what she'd said and jerked her eyes away again.

"At any rate, something must have been done to strengthen the charm around you, because I never saw through it again."

There was another long moment of silence. Then finally, Loki scoffed.

"I should have guessed, of course."

Klara risked glancing up. He was smirking at her. She was as shocked by that as she was by the fact that he was speaking at all.

"You see through everything else, after all," he said, "Why not this?"

A word flitted through Klara's mind, a single, unfamiliar word.

"…Abjurate."

The word left her lips before she could stop it, a hushed murmur that she thought perhaps Loki might not hear. Until she saw his smirk widen.

"Ah, yes," he said, leaning back as if to more fully take in her appearance, "I thought you had not heard the word before."

"Where did _you_ hear it?" she asked, heart in her throat, "How did you come to know its meaning?"

"In a book," he said with a shrug, getting to his feet and sauntering toward the lunch tray, picking up the half roll of bread and tossing it between his hands absently, "I did a lot of reading in my youth, while my..." He hesitated and then bit out the word like a bitter pill, _"...brother_ and his companions whiled away their free time in taverns and barmaids' beds."

Klara felt her shoulders sag as he flung himself back onto the settee, contemplating the bread from all angles. She had looked through all the books available to her, there was nothing...

"It was an old history text," he said, tearing a small pinch of the loaf away and holding it up to the light, "Not commonly available, but you can ask for it in the Halls of Knowledge. It was an obscure title though, let me think..."

He closed his eyes, rolling the small piece of bread, thoughtfully between his fingers, his brow furrowed.

" _The Lost Origins of Ancient Seidr_ ," he said with a slow cadence of deliberate recitation, " _Collecting the many dying forms of the arts of our ancestors_."

He opened his eyes and shrugged, tossing the bread piece aside and tearing off a new bit to examine.

"Or something of that nature. That should be enough to get you started at least."

Klara's pulse was vibrating through her very skin. She was trembling. She was sure her eyes were as wide as saucers in a face that felt as if all the warmth and blood had been drained from it. She just stared at Loki for several seconds as he tossed bread pieces absently about, sometimes catching them in his mouth, sometimes not, but not appearing terribly concerned either way. She had not expected him to give her a name. She had expected a trick, a tease, a brutal, tantalizing taunt drawn to its fullest extent until her nerves were stretched to breaking. But instead...

_The Lost Origins of Ancient Seidr..._

She knew Seidr to be a very old term for magic, a word she had not heard since her lessons in preparation for service to the queen. Lady Frigga was known to be one of the few Asgardians to still use the term from time to time. Odin All-Father was another.

As if the mere thought of his father's name was enough to draw his attention, Loki turned to look at her, a slight hint of satisfaction glinting somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

"Are you still here?" he asked, rubbing his pale cheek absently against the velvet of the settee, "You'd better hurry. I imagine it will take some time for the scholars to dig up that old tome."

Klara jerked straight up, panic gripping her chest. She needed this book. She needed it _now_. She dropped a curtsy to the prince, murmured some sort of farewell, though later she could not recall the words, and hurried away, her mind whirling, the title writing itself over and over against the dark backdrop of her mind.

_The Lost Origins of Ancient Seidr... Ancient Seidr... The Lost Origins of... Seidr... Ancient Seidr..._

Loki watched her go, still smirking absently to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki had been right. It took an inordinate amount of time for the scholars in the Halls of Knowledge to find the book Klara had asked for. She paced the large empty hall, wrapped in silence broken only by the whisper of feet against the stones, her hands knotting together anxiously over and over. What if the name was incorrect? Worse, what if the book didn't exist? What if this was nothing more than one of Loki's manipulative games, a test to see if she would fall for his trickery? She felt herself growing angrier and angrier as the minutes ticked by.

She was a fool, she was a child, she was...

And then the scholars' assistant emerged from the back of the Halls, covered in a thin film of dust and looking disgruntled, a book laid carefully across his white gloved hands. Klara's pacing ceased. The cover was dry, cracked, brown leather, the bindings fragile threads that had worn free of the spine in many places, and what bits of the pages Klara could see were frayed and ragged, looking as if one touch might crumble them into useless dust. The assistant approached her, but stopped well out of her reach.

"You understand that we cannot allow you to leave with this..." He glanced down at the book with something almost like a sneer, "... _volume_. We have done our best to preserve it, but it is resistant to all the usual methods and so must be kept within the safety and environmentally compatible atmosphere of the Halls."

Klara swallowed and nodded. Her mouth and throat had gone dry. It was there. It was right there. The answer to the question she had been searching for her entire life. Just there... tantalizingly out of reach.

"You may study it here in the halls, of course, under proper supervision."

Klara swallowed again, trying to make her tongue form words.

"Yes, thank you," she said, "Whatever I must do."

The assistant nodded, seeming marginally pleased by her cooperation, and led her back into the depths of the hall, the book still laid gently across his outstretched palms. Klara followed him through the quiet halls, passing other Asgardians of both noble and common descent, occupying the many tables and chairs scattered among the endless rows of bookshelves. The assistant led her through a small doorway into a cramped, cool corridor. Lanterns on the wall provided a dim golden hue that did not flicker as they passed several blank wooden doors, stopping finally before a door much like all the others, which the assistant indicated, merely through his pointed glances, that Klara should open. She did so and he stepped through, leaving her to follow in his wake.

The room beyond was small, and contained only a table and two chairs facing each other across it. There was another of the golden lanterns on the table, but it did not burn brightly, the light barely strong enough to reach the open doorway. A blotter was placed in the center of the table and the assistant indicated this blotter with a nod.

"If you please."

It took Klara a moment to realize what it was he wanted of her. She shut the door behind her, blinking as she tried to force her eyes to acclimate to the dimness, and hurried forward, ripping the top paper from the blotter cleanly. The assistant placed the fragile book precisely in the center of the new page, and then took a seat in the far chair. Klara took the other chair, her hands folded in her lap, staring down at the faded, peeling, gold embossing that swirled the title across the cracks in the book's cover.

_**The Lost Origins of Ancient Seidr:** _

**A Collection of the Many Dying Forms of the Arts of our Ancestors.**

"You will not touch the book," the assistant said sharply and Klara jerked her hand back, which she had not even realized had emerged from under the table, reaching toward the faded golden letters, "I will turn the pages and you will indicate by word or gesture when you are ready for me to proceed. This room is climate controlled and maximized for optimum preservation of the text. You have..."

He glanced at a thin timepiece on his wrist.

"...one hour, and then the book must be returned to storage."

Klara balked, panic welling up in her throat.

"One hour?" she squeaked, staring down at the thick volume before her.

"You may schedule time for further perusal on later dates, but one hour is the maximum time books of such a delicate nature can be out of storage in a single day," the assistant rattled the words off as if reading them out of an instruction manual, which Klara supposed he might be, "Scheduling can be done at the main desk. Shall we?"

He raised an eyebrow and Klara swallowed, then nodded. He readjusted his thin white gloves, and then carefully pulled back the cover of the ancient text. Klara leaned forward, hands clasped firmly beneath the table, and began to read.

* * *

She only managed to make it through the introduction of the book by the time her (considerably shortened) hour was up. It was written in a very old dialect, so different from current vernacular it was almost a different language, but still familiar enough that after a few lines she found she could muddle through. The first few pages were mostly names and acknowledgments of one kind or another, but Klara had still read the words carefully, taking mental note of any names that stuck out to her. When her time was up, she left the small room and immediately went to the front desk to schedule her next study session. The soonest possible opportunity was tomorrow, after the evening feast. Klara left the Halls of Knowledge feeling anxious. She had learned nothing new, except that Loki had, so far, been telling the truth. And a part of her felt that she should do _something_ in return, make some sort of gesture...

She returned to her room, pondering on the subject as she tidied up her already tidy space. Then she sat at her desk and typed out a report for Lady Frigga, informing her that the prisoner looked much better today, greatly improved just in the short time since the changes to his bedding arrangements. Then, almost as an afterthought, she put in a requisition for a small side table. She had never once seen Loki use his desk, and he had not once requested any pen or paper from her. But _should_ he ever choose to use it, a small table would serve as a much better spot to place his meals, rather than right on top of whatever he would happen to be working on. However, she put the requisition in at the lowest priority, deciding it might be prudent to practice patience rather than risk the notice of the All-Father. She could still hear his stern voice ringing in her ears, though it had been nearly three weeks since she had heard the words.

_He is no longer an errant child to be coddled and catered to... You will stop this foolishness..._

But really, this requisition was more for her own convenience than that of the prince. Where was she to place his meals if he chose to use the desk? It really was quite necessary... but perhaps not urgent.

Several days passed, perhaps even a few weeks. The routine that Klara's life had fallen into sometimes made it difficult to tell the days apart. She didn't mind. She found the steady rhythm soothing.

She continued to bring Lord Loki his meals and, now that he had decided they were speaking again, he pestered her mercilessly about the book.

_Haven't you finished it yet?_

_What have you learned thus far?_

_Perhaps I should test you to make certain you are attending to your studies..._

He seemed to take especially great pleasure in teasing her with tantalizing hints of things to come _(Oh, you've reached the Light Elves... the next bit is very interesting, you should pay attention...)_ which rarely came of anything in her reading, and did nothing but irk her.

The only reminder she had of time passing was on a day when, carrying Lord Loki's supper down to the dungeons, a loud bang scared her so badly that she nearly dropped the tray. There was a clamor of deep, gruff laughter and Klara stopped for a moment, staring.

The first four cells were completely stuffed full of... something. The creatures went about on two legs, but they resembled something far more primitive than she was accustomed to. Beady black eyes stared out of squashed faces, crooked protruding teeth bared in what might be either grin or grimace. The squat, muscled bodies were covered in long, thick hair, which stuck out everywhere through their primitive cloth and leather coverings. Another of the creatures in the cell closest to her flung himself against the golden barrier with a loud crash, but this time Klara only narrowed her eyes and glared. The creatures all seemed to think this even more amusing and they began to laugh again, mixed with a chorus of rumbling hoots, as they crowded up closer to the prison walls, leering down at her.

Klara straightened primly and got a better grip on her tray before setting off once more down the corridor, head held high, no longer acknowledging the creatures in any way. It had been so long since she had been jeered at by prisoners in the dungeons that she had nearly forgotten it could happen. She was pleased by how easily she slipped back into that place within her that no one could touch, removed from the world and everything in it, focused only on the goal of reaching the deceptively empty cell at the end.

He was waiting for her. He stood with his toes nearly touching the golden wall, his eyes narrowed as he stared down the corridor from whence she had come.

"Rock Trolls," Loki growled, disgusted, "Nasty creatures. And so terribly dull."

Klara glanced back toward the Rock Trolls. They had quite quickly lost interest in her, milling about in their cells like prowling animals in cages.

"I've never seen anything like them," she said, truthfully.

Loki snorted.

"No great loss in that, I can assure you," he said, pacing toward the back wall to allow Klara to engage the biolocks, "How is the book coming along?"

Klara clenched her jaw as she pressed her hand to the golden wall and watched it vanish.

"Well enough," she bit out.

"Still tearing away at it?" he asked, his smirk widening as his eyes followed her about the cell, setting the tray on his desk and straightening his bedclothes as she passed back through, "My, my, at this rate it'll be Yule before you find anything."

Klara did not reply, finishing her tasks and passing stiffly through the golden wall once more. In truth she was beginning to fear that very same thing. The reading itself was progressing with excruciating slowness, and she was not always able to schedule an appointment with the book, due to others needing the rooms, no assistants being available to help her, or her own overwhelming duties. Sometimes she was forced to wait three, even _four_ days for the opportunity to sit in one of the chilly little rooms, an infinitely patient assistant turning the pages as she poured over the faded, scrawling text of the ancient tome, searching desperately for any clues, any names she recognized, anything that might help her in her continued search for herself and others like her. Frequently she came out of these sessions convinced that the prince had lied to her and was even now having a fine laugh at her expense. But even the thought that she might just be playing his fool had not been enough to dampen the small ember of hope that had started to pulse in her chest. Something within her, some deep-rooted instinct that she wasn't entirely sure she could trust, told her that he had not lied. There was _something_ in this book, somewhere, that would help her. She just hadn't found it yet.

"I should be finished with the Dark Elves soon," she said, releasing Loki's biolocks, "There's a section on the Vanir next, but that shouldn't be too long, I don't think. The Vanir don't even have magic, so-"

Loki barked a laugh that cut Klara off mid-sentence.

"Not have magic?" he said, still chortling as he pushed himself off the back wall, "Of course they have magic! Or at least, they used to. In the last few thousand years or so there have only been two with Vanir blood known to possess an inherent talent for it, but in days gone by and nearly out of memory? Why, the Vanir taught Asgard everything they knew! Without them, there would _be_ no magic on Asgard."

Klara stared at him, speechless. That... that couldn't be right. Asgard was the center of Yggdrasil, the heart of the World Tree, everyone knew that. How could _Asgard_ have ever existed in a time without magic?

As if he could read her thoughts, Loki's lips twitched up, but he turned away and began to pace his cell.

"There was a time," he said, in a calm tone as if reciting a familiar tale, "When Asgard was cut off from all other realms. Much like the more primitive realms now, Midgard for instance."

He spoke the name so flippantly, but Klara jerked when he said it, harsh whispers flashing through her mind.

_...traitor... usurper... murderer... tyrant..._

Loki did not seem to notice, his eyes fixed on something in the middle distance only he could see.

"Reaching blindly for the stars always tantalizingly out of reach, just brushing the limits of the possibilities..."

He reached out a hand and swiped it gently through the air, as if clutching for the stars. He turned back to her.

"And then the Vanir came."

Klara continued to stare at him. She had never heard any of this. But she had also never bothered to dig very deeply into the history of the worlds. Servant girls were not expected to know such things.

"They came on a very primitive version of what we now know as the Bifrost," Loki continued, returning to his pacing, "They came and they taught us everything they knew. They helped the early Asgardians establish trade with other realms, even helped build the first iteration of what would eventually become the Rainbow Bridge. The Vanir are a trusting people, gentle, kind, compassionate."

He shot a smirk over his shoulder at her.

"Fools," he said, "Idiots. They were soon beset with conflict and opposition from nearly every other realm, held hostage on their own world by raiders and marauders, some of them the very same races they had helped reach the stars. But the Vanir had done one thing in all their golden era of peace, made one critically successful move in all their foolish blundering. They had made a friend of Asgard. Asgard had pledged ever-lasting gratitude to the Vanir for their part in bringing them out into the stars, and Asgardians have very long memories. So Asgard took up arms and defended Vanaheim from the threats that it faced, and in return the Vanir pledged them their service. That is why there has always been such a close relationship between our realms, even with the decline of the Vanir's power."

Loki's smirk was gone now. He was watching her with a contemplative stillness, and Klara was still staring, hadn't been able to stop really, but somehow she couldn't remember when exactly he had stopped pacing and gone so incredibly still.

"Because even now," he murmured, taking a measured step, "There are those who remember the stories their grandfathers told them. Of reaching out to the stars, but instead of finding empty air…"

He pressed his hand to the golden barrier. It shimmered where he touched it.

"…finding another hand reaching back."

There was a pause. Loki's eyes burned into hers and Klara could feel a tremble starting in the pit of her stomach, somewhere deep and spreading out...

There was a bang and she jumped, the tray in her hands rattling ever so slightly. She was gripping it so hard that her knuckles had turned white and she forced her fingers to relax. Loki's eyes had shot down the corridor, toward the Rock Trolls who were still testing the strength of their imprisonment, his sharp glare easily piercing the distance. He stepped back from the barrier, clasping his hands behind his back once more.

"You should ask Frigga about it sometime," he said, his tone clipped and short, "She could tell you. Her grandmother was Vanir."

Klara gaped at him. Lady Frigga? The _queen_ was...?

Loki's gaze swept back to her when she did not answer, and he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't look so shocked. Half the royal court of Asgard have at least a quarter Vanir blood running through their veins. They'd never admit it, of course," he sneered, "But they're out there, sniffing and turning up their noses at everyone else like a bunch of..."

He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes flashing for a moment, but then he closed them and took a breath through his nose.

"But never mind about that," he said, turning away, "I've kept you far too long with this useless history lesson. I'm sure you have things to see to."

He flopped onto his settee and flicked his wrist, a book flying out of the pile in the corner into his hand. That was the end of it. Klara left, her ears ringing and her mind feeling full to bursting, barely noticing the Rock Trolls as they hooted and laughed and threw themselves against their cells as she passed.

And as she moved through the palace halls that day, she looked differently at every noble that she passed, staring out of the corner of her down-turned eyes, wondering...

* * *

It was another excruciating day before she was able to return to the library, and another two before she finally finished the section about the Dark Elves and moved on to the Vanir. Despite the unhelpful nature of Loki's hints in the past, Klara found herself spending the next several of her sessions, not scanning the pages for obscure references, but really reading about the Vanir, how they had brought about a golden era of peace on their planet, using their skill and connection with the natural order to create power that would propel them into the stars, to learn from other lands and also to teach the skills they had acquired.

She had nearly finished the section, and nearly given up the seed of hope in her chest, when she found it. Buried within the text regarding the many skills and talents the Vanir cultivated in those who chose to pursue magical tutelage, was a small section, barely more than a few sentences. It was so small that Klara managed to successfully memorize it in the long minutes she sat staring at the yellowed, cracked page.

_'Among those who chose to practice the arts contained herein, only a few were chosen to practice the art of Abjuration, the absence of magic. In the face of peril or attack, such brave souls would stand between the People and the threat, a shield which no magic could penetrate. However, this skill was not highly sought, being useless, even detrimental, in times of peace when magic was used frequently to advance the People and their interests, and also as the practice was nearly impossible to master or even impose skillfully. Only a handful of Masters were known to exist and these rarely took pupils, being often reclusive and jealous of their secrets. Thus did the Abjurates diminish until none any more could be found to teach the art, and none existed who still wished to learn it.'_

Klara spent the last ten minutes of her hour rereading these few lines over and over. The assistant helping her, a small older woman with white hair and a kind, wrinkled face, glanced at her in concern when she began to close the book and Klara started as if out of a trance.

She finished shutting the book carefully and then said in a soft, slightly raspy voice, "Did you find what you needed, Miss?"

Klara stared at her, her whole world whirling around her. She thought she might be sick. Her stomach rolled. She swallowed and felt the sting of bile on the back of her throat.

"No," she said, the word falling from her tongue like a stone, "No, I didn't."

She got up from the table very carefully and walked out of the door, still feeling as if she were trying to stay upright while the palace rotated around her.

* * *

"You knew."

Loki did not look up from his book, only turned another page.

"Knew what?" he asked, sounding bored.

Klara again felt bile rising to the back of her throat and swallowed. The full lunch tray in her hands was trembling.

"About the Abjurates."

"Ah!" Loki said delightedly, snapping his book shut, "So you finally found them, did you? What did you think?"

He sat up from the floor (where he still seemed to sit most frequently, though he was much recovered from his close brush with death a few weeks ago) and stared at her eagerly, alight with curiosity. Klara felt tears burn the backs of her eyes and she blinked them away.

"You knew it was a learned skill," she said, her voice dull and slightly strained, "You knew it was something that had to be taught."

A bit of Loki's enthusiasm dimmed. He sat back slowly, shrugging in a carefully careless gesture.

"I knew the Old Vanir learned the skill, yes," he said, "I thought..."

"I was born like this."

Loki stared at her, all trace of good humor gone.

"You knew," she continued, feeling something building up in her chest, an amalgam of nameless emotion, "You _knew_ I was born this way. I told you, the first day I came to you. And still you..."

Her voice broke and she looked away. Loki said nothing. Klara swallowed again to clear the lump in her throat.

"You gave me hope..." she whispered hoarsely, "...when you knew that none existed."

"That isn't true," Loki said, his voice hard, biting.

A flash of fire flared up inside of her, igniting the emotion that had been building steadily in her chest. She locked eyes with him.

"No?" she snapped, the tray rattling in her grip, "You called me by a false name! You _knew_ I was not Abjurate, and yet you sent me on this wild, _fruitless_ chase! For what? For your amusement? Does it _amuse_ you, Lord Loki, to think of the hours I have wasted, the weeks I have spent, hoping against hope that this time, _this time,_ it would be different, that I would find something, _anything_ to tell me where I come from, what I was meant for, _who I am?!"_

Something on the tray shifted and clattered, startling Klara and causing the whole tray to slip from her grip. It hit the floor with an echoing crash that sent her stumbling backward. Loki leapt to his feet and took a step toward her, but suddenly stopped, as if only just now aware of himself. He clasped his hands behind him, his face an impenetrable mask of indifference. Klara stared, wondering at how easy it was for him, to just lock away all that he felt behind a solid stone wall. She was suddenly, painfully aware of the tears tracking silently down her cheeks and she scrubbed furiously at her face, then took a deep breath and settled herself, hands clasped behind her, eyes fixed on a point just beyond his head.

"Forgive me," she said in a carefully neutral tone, "That was terribly clumsy. I will have a new tray brought from the kitchens. Good evening, my lord."

And with a sharp curtsy, Klara turned and left the dungeon, feeling Loki's eyes following her down the corridor and up the stairs until she was out of sight.

They didn't see each other again for two weeks.


	10. Chapter 10

It was late when the message flashed across Klara's desk console, and so it took her longer to comprehend its meaning than it might have otherwise.

**Requisition #457 Approved. Proceed With Acquisition And Delivery At Earliest Convenience.**

A parchment printed out of the slot on the console and floated softly to rest on the glass-covered keyboard. Klara stared at it for a moment before she remembered. The table. She had put in a requisition for a small table, when she was delivering Loki's meals. She had completely forgotten about it in the weeks following... after...

She picked up the parchment and stared at it. She could probably shunt it off to somebody else; it wouldn't take much to convince someone that she was too busy. Preparations were just beginning for the Midwinter celebrations in two months' time and, as she was now the head of Lady Frigga's household, it fell upon her to see that the queen's orders for the event were delivered and subsequently carried out. For the last week or so Klara had been running back and forth to the gardens, checking the progress of the holly plants that were expected to garland the palace corridors. They hadn't been progressing as well as they had hoped and this, along with her normal duties to the queen, had thus far been sufficient enough excuse for Klara to bow out of delivering the prisoner's meals to him daily, especially now the All-Mother knew he was not in immediate danger of expiring from exhaustion or starvation.

Still, every time Lady Frigga mentioned him in passing, Klara felt a tiny twinge of guilt. She was very busy, it was true. So why did it feel, every time she made this excuse, like a little bit of a lie?

Klara had not told Lady Frigga about the book. She had seen no reason to parade her weakness in front of the queen, not when she had quite sufficiently learned her lesson from it. She was no longer angry at anyone but herself. It was her own fault, after all. She should have known better. It was in his nature, deception and lies. He couldn't help who he was, she supposed. But she would not make the same mistake again.

There was a bitter taste on her tongue and she swallowed to dispel it. She was still staring at the parchment in her hand. She sighed. She supposed it was well past time. She took up a pen and slowly scrawled her name across the bottom of the order.

* * *

The next morning, Klara ordered one of the small tables from the prince's room brought out and cleaned. It was small enough that there was no need for a gravity lift, Klara could carry it herself easily enough. After the noonday meal, she took the table to the dungeons, presented her requisition form, and descended into the dark stairwell.

The Rock Trolls were still there, though not as many as before. Most of them had been judged and sent back to Nidavellir. There were only a few, those that had been named the leaders and instigators of the rebellions on the Dwarven homeworld, that remained in the Asgardian dungeons, serving their long sentences here. They shouted and threw themselves against the glowing walls of their cell, but Klara paid them no mind. She only gripped the leg of the table more tightly and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the cell in the distance, the one with only one occupant, who was waiting for her.

He looked thin again. Klara noticed it without really meaning to, along with the dusting of shadow under his eyes. He didn't look as bad as before, but still...

She managed to clip those thoughts short as she placed herself before his cell, setting her chin and keeping her eyes fixed on a distant point above his head.

"And where have you been?" Loki snapped irritably before she could speak.

He was drawn up to his full height, held stiffly, but she could feel his eyes burning into her, willing her gaze to meet his. Klara clenched her jaw and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the back wall of his cell. She would not fall for this deception again.

"What I do and where I go are not your concern, Lord Loki."

She could feel his glare, his lips a thin, hard line in his face. She caught a glimpse of his jaw working beneath skin as he gritted his teeth. She remained still and composed, but underneath she was seething. How darehe? After what he had done, how _dare_ he...?

Finally, he whirled and stalked away.

"Fine," he bit out, slamming his back against the far wall, "Then leave what you have brought, and go."

Klara's fingers were gripped so tightly to the table that her knuckles were white, trying desperately not to tremble with rage. She wanted to throw it as hard as she could against the golden barrier, to shatter it into a thousand pieces against the cell. But everything she had been taught, all of the control Elli had instilled in her from so early an age, would not allow such a flagrant show of emotion. She tried to breathe through her nose, but was finding it difficult. Her chest was burning, she was on fire. She hated him. With every fiber of herbeing, she _hated_ him, hated his arrogance, his presumption, his pride, and most of all, _worst_ of all, she hated that his clothes still hung too loosely upon him, that his cheeks were more sunken, his skin as thin as paper, that when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall she could see the exhaustion that was eating at him like a parasite, and she felt... _guilty._ When she had been tending him, as she had been ordered, he had been improving. She could see the regression her absence had caused him, and a gnawing shame clawed at her insides. She had caused this. She was slowly killing him.

_He was once a prince..._

_He was once a son..._

_The moon knew not what might was his..._

Klara gritted her teeth and finally engaged the biolocks with deliberate care, slipping inside the cell with a practiced ease, as if she had never been gone. She set the table by the settee, the only place in the room where it seemed appropriate to place it. The bedclothes had been made up, the white wolf curled demurely at the foot. Klara smoothed a hand absently over the blanket, glanced up... and caught Loki watching her. His face was carefully neutral but his eyes followed her, as if trying to think of something to say, but failing to find the appropriate words. Klara straightened her tunic and turned away, still feeling his eyes on her as she slipped out of the cell and released the locks. She watched with her hands clasped firmly behind her as Loki came forward to inspect the table, brushing his fingers over the wooden top, his brow furrowed.

Klara nearly left then, nearly stalked away without a word, but some lingering part of her guilt would not allow it. She straightened her shoulders instead and forced as much chill into her voice as she could.

"Is there anything else, my lord?"

Loki flinched as if she had struck him, but then his face sharpened, his expression hardened into a glaring grimace.

"No."

Klara nodded.

"Very well, I have things to see to. Good day."

She dropped a short curtsy and turned to go.

"You won't believe this, of course," he said, his voice low and bitter, "But I did not intentionally deceive you."

Klara paused. Her back was still to him, rigid, frozen in the dim dungeon corridor. She could see the Rock Trolls waiting for her at the end of the row, shuffling around their empty cell, restless with simmering anger. She let out a slow breath and turned back.

He was glaring at her, but she could see his throat move as he swallowed.

"It's true," he said, turning to pace his cell, "I did know that the Old Vanir had learned the skill of abjuration. I knew it to be a rare form of magic, nearly unheard of by the time they reached Asgard, and now relegated only to legend and myth. I called you Abjurate because I had no other word for what I was seeing."

He turned back in his pacing and his eyes flicked up to meet hers, and then away again.

"It is also true that I sent you searching for the book because I thought it might amuse me. The prospect of observing your voyage of discovery, however brief and second-hand, was a welcome respite from the monotony that I find so infinitely loathsome and comes in such great abundance when one's entire world is suddenly reduced to a square, white box."

He flung his hand out to indicate his cell without more than a pause for breath.

"And I thought it might help," he said, still pacing, his eyes fixed on his path, "That you might discover something to move you forward, maybe only an answer with more questions, but still, it was all that I _had_ to..."

He stopped. His back was to her and he had stiffened a bit. His hands were reflexively clenching and relaxing behind his back. Klara waited, staring at him. She didn't know if she believed him. He was the master of the half-truth and he'd had plenty of time to think this through, to plan out this little speech, every nuance, every movement, every slip of voice. It could all be just another trick.

"Why would you help me?" she asked, her voice surprisingly neutral.

He turned back to her and a small grin curled one corner of his lips.

"Because I was bored, and you were listening."

Klara narrowed her eyes. Loki shrugged, strolling a bit more leisurely back toward his settee.

"As I said, I don't expect you to believe it," he said, "But my actions were not intentionally deceptive. Your efforts were amusing to me purely as a diversion, not as an exercise in futility."

He met her eyes and held them with burning intensity.

"I was not laughing at you, Mistress Klara."

Klara held his gaze for a few painful moments. Then she sighed and looked away. Whether or not he was telling the truth, it was over, done. She could not continue to neglect her duty over it. And like it or not, he was decidedly too thin.

She waved to the small table in a gesture of concession.

"I imagine you'll need a chair to accompany that," she said, "I will put in the requisition. And I'll see what I can do about bringing some new books. I'm sure you've had plenty of time to read the ones you have."

Once again, she saw Loki's throat work as he swallowed and something glimmered briefly in his eyes, but he quickly turned away, flopping back onto his settee and picking up the book he'd left there, flicking through the pages.

"Very well," he said, indifferently, "If you could make sure there's a sufficient variety, that would be most appreciated. It seems Lady Frigga believes I only have interest in old history texts and poetry."

Klara felt a small twitch at the corner of her mouth, but suppressed it before it could become a smile.

"I will do what I can, my lord," she said, dropping a much more polite curtsy, "Good day to you."

As she turned away, she heard him softly reply.

"Good day, Mistress Klara."

* * *

The next day, Klara reported her visit to Lady Frigga, who was delighted to hear that she had been to see the prince.

"I sensed that the two of you had some sort of... disagreement," the queen admitted, her clever eyes watching Klara's forcibly impassive face with interest, "I am pleased that the bridges appear to be mended."

"I wouldn't go so far as that, my lady," Klara said, "But I assure you, I will not be remiss in my duties again. It was irresponsible of me to put them aside for so long."

Lady Frigga smiled, though her expression implied that she thought more of what Klara had said than Klara did. Then she turned away, her fingers flying over her console excitedly.

"Now, as to the matter of books..."

The queen gave Klara several recommendations and then advised her to take the list to the library assistants for suggestions. Klara had not returned to the library since... well, since her 'disagreement' with Lord Loki, but she had been so frequent a visitor in the weeks preceding that many of the assistants now knew her by sight. She presented her list to a young man and he nodded thoughtfully as he scanned the parchment with practiced eyes.

"Yes, I believe I know a few things we might add..."

"Good," Klara said, "If you could please gather them and inform me when they are ready to collect?"

The boy glanced up at her, looking slightly amused.

"Surely these are not all for _you_ , Miss Klara."

Klara met his eyes.

"No. They are not."

His brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't offer any other explanation, instead turning on her heel and striding out of the Halls. The rumors about her service to the imprisoned prince had not diminished, even in her absence from the dungeons the past two weeks. She could almost hear the whispers echoing in the corridors, feel the stares as she passed. She held herself with all the confidence and respect of her station, but she had started avoiding public encounters and she had not visited the tavern at all since Andvari had gone. Such things had always been his idea anyway, not hers and without him here to encourage her, she failed to see the appeal.

Just as the queen's letters had suggested, Andvari had been left in charge of the restoration on Nidavellir, under the command of King Eitri of the Dwarves. He was not due back until Yule, and then only briefly, as the Badoon rebellions were proving troublesome, and additional forces were being requested to deal with the problem. It was expected that all would reconvene in Asgard for a week or two at Midwinter, and then attack the problem again going into the new year.

Klara's schedule left her little time to think deeply on Andvari's eminent return, however. She was still expected to run the household of Lady Frigga (who, to her credit, made the job surprisingly easy, liking very much to tend to many of her own staffing and scheduling tasks), run the errands and issue the commands of the queen, as well as see that these things were carried out, and now she was also visiting the dungeons on as regular a basis as she could manage. She did not manage it every day, but several days a week she made a point to stop in and ensure that the prince was not lacking in anything. She did not like to admit it, but she had worried that her extended absence might have caused him irreparable harm. To her relief, he seemed once again to be improving. The shadows beneath his eyes diminished with each passing day and he was back to his usual quips and sharp retorts regarding anything and everything he could think of to get some sort of rise out of her. Klara remained stoic and calm, mostly because she was often so pleased with his improving condition that she feared either her face or her tongue might betray her if she tried to respond. So for the most part she kept silent, allowing herself only small answering quips on occasion, which seemed to please the prince well enough.

* * *

The requisition for the chair Klara had promised took three weeks, and frankly, she could not have been more relieved when the order came across her console. Loki had been particularly snarky the past few days, fixating specifically on this chair which Klara had begun to regret requisitioning in the first place. She had tried explaining that she'd had to place the request on the lowest priority in order to avoid undue attention, but that had only seemed to inflame his ire.

"Why should my requests be pushed aside?" he'd ranted, pacing his cell, one hand waving imperiously in the air, "I have just as much right to make a request as any other prisoner stuck in this forsaken pit! Why should you feel ashamed to put in a request on my behalf, to slip it in like it were some sort of unlawful subterfuge? My service is just as worthy as anyone else's!"

"But it's not."

The words had slipped from Klara's mouth so suddenly that at first she had wondered if she'd spoken them at all. How could her tongue have betrayed her in such a way? She could still remember Loki's hot glare as he stared down at her, eyes narrowed.

"What?"

She should not have answered. She should have made some excuse and escaped. But her foolish mouth had instead continued in its blatant betrayal.

"It isn't the same, my lord," she'd said, "Serving you. Don't you know... what they say?"

When Klara closed her eyes she could still see his face so vividly: the way his jaw had worked beneath his skin, the way his shoulders had tensed beneath his jacket, the way his eyes had bored into her so intently.

"And what do _you_ say?" he'd asked, in a voice hard like crystal, yet smooth and warm, that sent a tingle down her spine, even now in the safety of her room she could hear it, could feel the tingle again as she remembered.

"I am here to serve," she'd replied, "Not pass judgment."

She felt these were probably the only words that she'd spoken in the whole encounter that had not been foolish, but somehow, Loki had still seemed disappointed.

Klara sighed and opened her eyes, staring at the message still scrolling across her console screen. The chair had been approved. At least there was that. She typed out a brief message to have one of the high-backed chairs from Loki's old quarters brought out and cleaned, and also scheduled a pick up by one of the lift operators for a delivery to the dungeons, and then she went to bed. She had much to do tomorrow.

The delivery itself went as well as expected. Loki did not mention their argument (if it could be called that), and Klara did not bring it up. She simply had the lift operator deposit the chair into the cell and then dismissed him. The man seemed grateful to be released from the dungeon. Klara barely noticed the Rock Trolls anymore and they in turn seemed to have lost interest in her, as all the other prisoners had, but they had taken great delight in making the lift operator jump and thus cause his equipment to lurch and whine. Klara had to admit that she herself had found a bit of amusement in it, and felt a touch of guilt. After all, the poor man couldn't help it. They were a little frightening if you weren't used to seeing them regularly.

Loki leaned close to the golden barrier in order to watch the man's retreat, his face breaking into a delighted grin when one of the trolls slammed into the cell wall just as the poor soul reached the stairs, causing him to stumble over the first step and the trolls to laugh deeply and uncontrollably.

"Idiots," Loki murmured, and Klara wasn't sure if he were referring to the Rock Trolls or the lift operator.

He finally turned to inspect the chair and Klara straightened decidedly. She was very busy today and she didn't have time to engage in the witty banter that he so enjoyed provoking her with.

"If there is nothing else, my lord, I will take my leave."

To her relief, Loki waved a hand at her distractedly, brushing the other hand over the soft crimson velvet of the chair's arm.

"Yes, yes, that will be all then," he said absently.

Klara dropped her usual curtsy and turned to go, striding down the corridors with her head high and not looking to either side. The Rock Trolls made their customary low hooting sounds as she passed their cell, but she did not even deign to look at them, smirking to herself as she passed. She had just put her foot on the first step, when the dungeon door above her opened.

The shouting and commotion made her draw back, her stomach lurching a bit. She had never heard such a noise in all her life. Suddenly two guards in golden armor burst out of the stairwell, their staffs in their hands, followed by a group of chained, reptilian creatures, all shouting and hissing and chittering, straining against their chains and fighting against the many soldiers pouring into the dungeon and surrounding them. Klara took another few hurried steps back, remembering at the last moment not to get too close to any of the surrounding cells, fearing a riot if she accidentally set the Rock Trolls free. They were shouting and generally causing a ruckus behind her, but Klara was far more worried about the green-skinned, web-fingered things currently being herded down the corridor. They had scaled, gaunt faces with pointed ears and sharp teeth, yellow eyes slitted like snakes, all dressed in thick armor that seemed mostly intended for rudimentary space travel.

They were nearly past when one of the creatures turned to shout at his captors and noticed her. His face broke into a toothy grin and then he lunged, pulling the entire group of his fellow prisoners with him. Klara jerked back, stumbled, and a distant voice shouted, angry desperation echoing against the dungeon stones.

_"Klara!"_

Then something large stepped in front of her, blocking the vicious creatures from view.

"Go on then, you slimy pond scum!" the huge man before her shouted in an odd sort of gleeful snarl, "Go on then! See how you like the taste of my axe steel! No? No takers? Then get on with you, let's go! Move it, you overgrown tadpoles!"

The group started moving again, but as they shuffled past the one that had initially lunged at her looked back over his shoulder and hissed venomously. Once again, the man stepped in front of her.

"You wanna try again?" he growled.

The creature glared up at him, then turned and slunk off with the rest of his companions, who were now being shoved into a cell together. The soldier shook his shaggy head, his long red hair and braids flopping around his massive shoulders.

"Badoon," he spit, "Never will understand that nonsense they've got against the fairer sex."

He turned and grinned down at Klara, his double-headed axe now slung over his shoulder.

"You alright there, girl?"

It was Lord Volstagg.

Klara found it difficult not to stare. She had, of course, seen Lord Volstagg before, in taverns, from a distance, but she had never before had occasion to speak to him, or even be within close proximity of the gigantic man. He was every inch what the soldiers said and more, standing easily a head and shoulders taller than anyone in the dungeons, but somehow she did not feel as if he were towering over her or trying to intimidate her in anyway. In fact, if she hadn't just had such a shock, she thought she might have felt quite comfortable in the big man's presence. As it was she could barely nod her acknowledgment of his question.

He shook his head a little, as if he were disappointed.

"Shouldn't have been down here in the first place, little wisp of a thing that you are," he said, "What are you doing down here on your own?"

Klara swallowed and managed to get her tongue to detach from the roof of her mouth.

"I was... seeing to something for the Lady Frigga."

She involuntarily glanced back down the corridor, toward Loki's cell. She was surprised to see him standing at the wall, a hand pressed to the golden barrier, staring at her. And she heard again the panicked voice shouting her name as the Badoon had lunged for her.

Loki's voice.

… _Klara!_

But now he turned away, stalking back to his chair and flinging himself upon it, flicking his fingers to call a book to his hand from the pile stacked in the opposite corner. Klara watched him, fascinated. Had she imagined it? And if so... what did that say about her?

She was brought back by an enormous hand clapping her on the shoulder. She jumped and looked up at Lord Volstagg. His eyes had followed hers and they had not yet left Loki's cell.

"Ah, well," he said, in what sounded like a bit of forced cheerfulness, "No place for a nice girl like you, this dark, damp hole. Know what you need?" he asked, glancing down and shaking her shoulder good-naturedly, nearly knocking her off her feet, "A stiff drink! I was just about to treat the boys to a round down at the tavern, if you care to join us?"

Klara had to work very hard not to gape at him. What Andvari would give to be invited to drink with Lord Volstagg... but the holly plants needed checking and the laundries were taking too long with one of the queen's favorite frocks and she still had to make a stop by the kitchens to ask about the shortage of boar in the last few weeks. She inwardly sighed and smiled at the large, friendly man.

"No, thank you, my lord," she said, "I'm afraid my duties to the All-Mother take me elsewhere today."

Lord Volstagg looked a bit disappointed (which Klara appreciated far more than he would probably ever know), but he grinned and clapped her once more on the shoulder.

"Ah, well, work is never over, is it?" he said jovially, "Another time, perhaps?"

"It would be an honor, my lord," she said, managing to drop a small curtsy under the weight of his hand still on her shoulder, before she turned and started back up the stairs.

"Oy!" the big man called and Klara turned back, "I didn't' catch your name, girl!"

She returned his infectious grin.

"Klara, my lord."

He pointed a giant finger at her and grinned.

"I'll hold you to that, Mistress Klara," he said with a good-natured wink.

Klara's grin widened and she mounted the steps with a bit more spring to her step, feeling much better about the whole ordeal than she had a few moments before.

* * *

Loki observed this light-hearted exchange with a scowl, only dropping his eyes back to the book in his lap when Volstagg turned to give him a pointed, sour look. Loki fixed his gaze to the page, leaned back in his chair, and flung a hand carelessly around his cell, throwing up an illusion that made the empty space appear to be crawling with huge, long-toothed rodents. A loud, disgusted cry echoed against the prison stones and Loki smirked.


	11. Chapter 11

The next two months were some of the busiest of Klara's life. The Midwinter celebrations were approaching with a speed that seemed to defy logic, and the preparations necessary to make the celebrations possible piled up more and more rapidly with each passing day. The holly was successfully cultivated, but then extra gardeners were needed to successfully harvest the plants, several dozen servants were employed just in the braiding of garlands, and it took almost that many again to have the garlands hung in time for the beginning of the winter months.

But that was only the beginning, just a single aspect of the preparations necessary to make the Midwinter festivities possible. Klara had never guessed, in all her years in the Lady Frigga's service, that so much work went in to making the palace ready for the revelry. There was the food, the wine, the beer, the decorations, the musicians, the clothes, and all the many artisans and merchants needing time to prepare and not one of them given what they thought was enough. Klara was run nearly ragged just trying to keep up with her messages, much less her other duties.

Winter crept up so suddenly that Klara shouted in surprise when she stepped outside one morning and her slippered foot sank several inches deep in fresh snow, forcing her to rush back to her rooms for a cloak and boots before she could attempt to venture out again. Loki had laughed quite heartily when she told him about that particular incident. She was still trying her best to visit him often and see that his needs were being met, but sometimes she only had a few minutes at the end of a very long day and she found that her tongue got away from her far more often than she liked when she was tired. She caught herself telling him things that, had her mind been clearer, she might not otherwise have said. He listened with a bemused expression as she regaled him with a blow by blow account of her very loud argument with Andhrímnir about the number of fowl that were necessary to feed a guest list that was quickly climbing into the hundreds, and included Volstagg the Voluminous. She even somehow found herself mentioning her exasperation with the dressmakers.

"And then, after I've been running about all day, hardly able to stop to _breathe_ , they expect me to just... _stand_ there, like a marble statue while they poke me with pins and wrap me up like some parcel for delivery! I can hardly be expected to just _switch off_ when they ask me too, I am not a _machine_!"

She huffed to a stop, her frustration finally having run its course. Loki was sitting in his chair, head tilted to the side, just staring at her with the most curious expression on his face. She wondered for a moment if he had even heard a word she'd said and felt an embarrassed flush heat her face. She swallowed and clasped her hands behind her again, holding herself with a bit more poise.

"Yes, of course..." Loki murmured, almost as if to himself, "...I suppose you would be going, wouldn't you?"

Klara blinked, but could think of nothing to say. They just stared at one another, Klara blankly, Loki still with that strange expression as if he were seeing her from very far away. After a long moment, he shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if shaking away a stray thought that had clung to his mind, and swept to his feet, his book clasped behind his back. He strode about the room for a moment before approaching his desk, sliding a finger over the woodgrain with an expression of suppressed interest.

"I think I'd like some paper," he said, almost absently, "And a pen."

Klara blinked again, startled. The desk had been sitting in the corner of his cell for _months_ , and not once had Loki asked for paper and pen to use it.

"I... will see to it, of course."

"Excellent," he said, opening his book and turning back to pace the room, his gaze fixed on the pages, "You should get some sleep I think, Mistress Klara, you're looking rather tired of late."

He said it in a friendly, yet neutral sort of voice and some part of Klara seethed, but she bit her tongue. He was baiting her, intentionally trying to raise her hackles. She straightened primly, keeping her expression guarded.

"I think I shall," she said, dipping a curtsy to him, "Good night, my lord."

Then she whirled and marched straight out of the dungeon, not bothering to look back.

* * *

Klara had Loki's pen and paper sent to him, and when she visited him again (a quick stop between lunch and an appointment with the musicians) he leaped to his feet, grinning.

"Ah, good!" he said cheerfully, turning and striding toward his desk, "I have something I need you to deliver."

Klara froze in her tracks, staring at his back as he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a long, sealed envelope, turning and waving it at her with a sort of giddy excitement. Klara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Never, in all the time she had served him, had he asked her to deliver something.

"And who am I to deliver this to?" she asked. She could not imagine that anyone in the realm (or anywhere else, for that matter) would possibly conspire with the dreaded traitor of Asgard, but still...

"The jeweler's," he said, setting the envelope deliberately on the small side table and striding toward the back wall, "I've written down the address."

He leaned against the wall and, out of a sort of mechanical habit, Klara engaged the biolocks, the tone sounding strangely muffled in her ears. She pressed her hand to the glowing barrier, stepping through smoothly as it flashed out of existence, and she picked up the envelope, turning it over in her hands. In a small, neat script was written the address of a place not far from the palace, a jeweler that she was only vaguely familiar with. She looked up. Loki was watching her closely, his eyes raking over her, flitting from her to the envelope and back, still grinning like a mischievous school boy. She tapped the envelope on the palm of her hand absently, considering.

"What is it?" she asked, finally.

His grin widened.

"A commission," he said, "You have my permission to inspect the final product thoroughly before it is delivered, if you wish."

Klara smirked. They both knew that she didn't need his permission to inspect anything that came in or out of his cell. The statement was merely a gesture of goodwill. Klara looked down at the envelope again. It seemed harmless enough. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to deliver it. She nodded, decisively.

"Alright," she said, slipping the envelope into the pocket of her tunic, "I'll deliver your message as soon as I am able."

The grin on Loki's face somehow made her feel as if she had been duped. But then, he always made her feel that way.

Besides, Klara barely had time to eat or sleep, much less fret over Loki's mysterious commission. She had far more important things to worry about, like where to place all of these important nobles without accidentally beginning a civil war in the middle of Yule. She learned more about internal Asgardian politics in the three weeks leading up to the Midwinter feast than she had ever wished to know. Her mind was spinning with mixed loyalties, blood feuds, who had married whose daughter, and who just generally had a bad attitude toward everyone (this was quite easy actually: the answer was 'all of them').

The decorations were falling behind schedule, the musicians insisted that they did not have enough time to prepare all the pieces they were expected to perform and required additional compensation for the extra practice time, and Andhrímnir had banned Klara from the kitchens on pain of death. Or at least a good tongue-lashing. The last minute details occupied every moment of her time, sending her scurrying hither and thither at the Lady Frigga's request, to the grounds keepers', the breweries, the dress makers', the kitchens (when Andhrímnir wasn't looking). She would fall into bed, but only manage a few hours of sleep before something she had forgotten, some task she had yet to complete, woke her in the night and she was off again, filling out requisitions and signing for deliveries.

In fact, she was so thoroughly frazzled by the whole debacle that when she entered her quarters a few days before Yule and found a long parcel draped across her bed from the dressmakers', she thought there must have been a mistake. It took her several moments and a triple check of her name on the package before she remembered the long-ago afternoon she had spent being poked and prodded and tsked for not standing still. She glanced down at her worn, wrinkled servant's tunic and sighed. She was not looking forward to whatever lay in wait for her beneath the swathe of brown parcel paper. She had seen the things ladies of the court wore to these events. Lady Frigga was always dressed well, of course, elegant yet functional, but some of the others... Klara shuddered. She wished, for a brief moment, that she could just pretend not to have received the package and wear her old tunic and leggings, simply fading into the background as she always did. But she was a lady-in-waiting now. And ladies-in-waiting did not wear servants' tunics. She hung the package in her small closet just as it was and promptly put it out of her mind. She could worry about it later.

Later came much sooner than she was expecting.

The night before Yule, Klara was ordered to her quarters early for a good night's sleep, so she could look well-rested for the occasion. She was also summarily dismissed from any duties the following day, in order to prepare herself for the feast and to help the queen with her own preparations. Despite having no duties to perform, Klara woke early, feeling rested and better than she had in weeks. She got up, had a light breakfast from the fruit in her room, and began the long, tedious process of preparing herself for the evening.

She pulled the dressmaker's package from her closet and, with great trepidation, unwrapped the creation within. It was a long, flowing, delicate thing of shimmering lavender and silver, and Klara eyed it for several long moments with suspicion. She could not imagine that such a thing would possibly make her look like anything but a pretender, a fraud amidst the glittering court. But the Lady Frigga insisted, and so she obeyed. She managed to get the dress on and fasten all the many buttons and ribbons in what she hoped was the correct order. She had to admit she liked the feel of the dress; it was much less cumbersome than she had expected. She slipped on the matching silver sandals that had been provided, but did not spend too much time looking over her appearance. If she did, she feared she would only make herself more self-conscious and be tempted to feint some sort of illness. Her stomach was already fluttering and rolling with nerves.

She had just finished putting up her hair, allowing a few curls to fall free of the stacked braids, when there was a knock on her door. She paused, hands still hovering in the air above her head. She wasn't expecting any deliveries today. Nevertheless, the knock repeated itself and so, furrowing her brow, Klara rose and opened the door. A man in the tunic and trousers of a workman's apprentice stood in the hallway, fidgeting nervously, a wrapped, rectangular parcel in his hand.

"Excuse me, miss, but might this be where the Mistress Klara resides?" he asked with an anxious politeness, his eyes darting up and down the hall.

"I am Mistress Klara," she answered curiously, "What can I do for you?"

The young man thrust the box toward her with eager hands.

"I was bid by my master to bring this to you," he said, "A commission. We were told to leave it with you and you would see it delivered?"

Klara recognized the seal on the paper, but it took her a moment to place it. It was the jeweler Loki had written to. He must not have used his own name in the commission. Clever. Klara took the package from the young man's hands, feeling a touch of irritation at the prisoner-prince for using her as his intermediary without her knowledge.

"Tell your master I will see to it," she said, trying not to let her frustration bleed into her voice, "Thank you, you may go."

The young man bowed and scurried away. Klara shut the door and sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose to dispel the beginnings of the headache that was threatening to build behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and turned over the package in her hands. It was a thin and flat, and when she shook it to her ear she could hear no rattle. A pen perhaps? She wondered why Loki had not just ordered her to bring him a different pen if the one he had was not what he wanted. What was so special about this?

She was tempted to open the box. She had the right, of course, and he knew that. But she hesitated, her fingers running along the edge of the wrapping paper, rubbing it between her fingers. She glanced at the time on her desk console. She had a few hours before she was due to attend on the Lady Frigga. It was enough time, she supposed.

She sighed and gathered up her dress, tucking the package under her arm as she made her way out into the rush of the palace.

The dungeon seemed even gloomier when compared with the cheery and festive bustle above. The Badoon that remained in Asgard had mostly settled into their cells, but they still hissed at Klara as she walked by, a regular occurrence that she could now ignore, much as she did the soft hoots and grunts of their Rock Troll cell mates. Even with these few disturbances, the air was quiet down here. If Klara hadn't been used to it, she might have found the silence eerie. But after several months of frequent visits, and especially considering the hectic quality of her life recently, the quiet was oddly soothing. She felt the flutter of nervous energy in her stomach subside with the calming swish of her sandals against the flagstones, felt her head lift and her chin settle, felt a familiar swell of confident power enter her stride the further into the dungeon she ventured.

By the time she reached the prince's cell, she was as stoic and composed as she ever was, with no hint at all that she had felt any hurried fluster whatsoever. She stood in the golden light, his box settled in her palms where he could see. He was stretched out along the lip of the outer wall, one of the newer spots he had begun to frequent in his reading. He glanced up from his book and paused, a finger poised to turn the page. He considered her with emotionless eyes for a long moment, then very deliberately shut the book and rose to his feet, clasping his hands and book behind him.

"Well," he said, a smirk brushing his lips, "It must be Yuletime then."

Klara settled her shoulders and met his eyes boldly.

"Yes, and I am very busy," she said, holding out the package in her hands, "Your commission came this morning."

"Have you opened it?" he asked, his eyes alight with a strange sort of glee as they fell on the carefully wrapped box.

Klara quirked an eyebrow.

"Should I have?"

"Isn't that one of your duties?" he asked, taking a single step back and surveying her with an inexplicable grin on his face, "To inspect the things that are brought into my cell? I am a prisoner after all."

He said it with a flippant tone that Klara found a bit unnerving. Her fingers tightened reflexively on the box.

"I am given the authority to inspect your parcels, yes," she answered, hesitantly.

"Well then," he said, waving a hand toward her, "Get on with it."

Klara looked down at the box in her hands, then back up at Loki. Why did she feel as if she were being tricked in some way? This had come from a _jeweler's_ shop, she had been to the place herself to deliver the commission. What could he have gotten from a jeweler that could possibly do her harm? She swallowed and set her jaw, then carefully peeled away the brown wrapping around the package. Inside was a case of black velvet, typical of what she might expect of a jeweler. She looked up at Loki and quirked her brow at him once more. He only grinned more widely and waved her onward.

Her fingers hovered over the box for a moment, but finally Klara steeled herself and with one swift motion, flicked open the lid. On a bed of crushed black velvet lay a delicate necklace of twisted silver, a diamond pendant held captive at the center of the twirling silver wires. In the space that the necklace encircled, a pair of small matching ear bobbles shimmered and winked in the bright light of the prison walls.

Klara stared down into the box for so long that she nearly forgot where she was. Her thoughts felt as if they were trying to wade through puddles of thick honey. Why would...? Why would Loki need...? Why would he want...? Her brow furrowed and she looked up. He was staring at her, watching her with intense anticipation, his smile fixed like stone upon his face as his eyes searched hers fervently.

"I thought gold might be a little too much," he said, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them, "It seems I made a wise choice."

Klara stared at him, her mind not wanting to reach the only inevitable conclusion. She looked back into the box, at the shimmering, lovely treasures it held, like starlight brought to earth and made manifest.

And then she snapped the box shut, cutting off the impossible from her mind.

"My lord, I cannot accept these."

Her voice was a bit more harsh than she had perhaps intended, but it was the only way to conceal how quickly her heart was fluttering in her chest, how much her limbs were trembling.

Loki frowned.

"Why not?"

Klara glared at him, feeling a burning fury at his complete ignorance of her, of who she was, of who _he_ was!

"Because I cannot accept bribes from a prisoner," she snapped.

Loki only rolled his eyes.

"Oh that," he said, "You needn't fear for your precious honor, Mistress Klara. My name is in no way attached to the trinkets you hold in your hands. In fact, there are only two people in all the realms who know the source of that commission," He leaned forward and grinned mischievously down at her, "And they are both standing right here."

Klara blinked, and dropped her eyes back to the closed box. There was a breath of pause.

"Consider it payment," he said at last, in a tone that might have hinted at compassion in any other person's mouth, "If it will make you feel better. For services rendered these past few months."

"Your mother pays me," she answered absently.

"Not nearly enough."

He was smiling at her. Not smirking, as he so often did, but genuinely smiling. He nodded at the box in her hand.

"Just for tonight," he said gently, "Then you need never look on them again, if you don't wish it. It would be a terrible shame if they never saw at least one night's service, don't you think?"

Klara swallowed. She was trembling again. She longed to clasp her hands behind her back, to hide the way her fingers shook. But she couldn't manage it, not with the box still clutched in her grip. She took a deep breath through her nose and slowly, carefully, lifted the lid of the jeweler's case. The diamonds shimmered in what little light managed to slip inside. Lovely, but not gaudy. If she were of a mind to wear jewels, these were ones Klara might have chosen for herself. She reached out a hand and brushed the silver chain with her fingertips. Then she lifted her eyes to the prince, still smiling at her from his cell.

"Very well," she said, "I accept, with gratitude. But know that you will receive no favors in return. Is that understood?"

He dropped dutifully into a full and gracious bow.

"I would expect nothing less."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I just want to thank you guys again for all the lovely reviews I've been getting for this story! I read all of them and they make me smile :) Also, just a warning, posting might get a little sporadic through the month of July. I am participating in Camp NaNoWriMo and while I don't anticipate this making a large difference in my posting schedule for this story, my words will come first this month :) Thank you guys for understanding!

The Royal Asgardian Midwinter Feast was loud, crowded, and glamorously boisterous. Klara was miserable. She remained close to Lady Frigga's side from the moment they entered the great hall, hovering in the queen's shadow and trying to remain unobtrusive. Her hands kept straying nervously to her collarbone where the light, delicate chain of silver hung about her throat, but she always quickly pulled away when she realized it. She didn't want to draw attention.

The feast felt as if it might last forever. The music played softly and after a time many of the guests began to make their way to the marble dance floor before the roaring fireplace. Klara hung back as the king stood and offered his hand to the Lady Frigga, who took it with a demure smile and allowed him to lead her toward the smooth stone floor. Klara edged toward a corner, still close to the dais where the queen would sit through most of the celebration, but still far enough that, if she was lucky, no one would...

"Klara?"

She jumped and whirled around, staring. Andvari stood behind her, his handsome face stretched into a wide grin that nearly put the gleam of the gold fastenings on his maroon cloak to shame.

"What are you doing here in the shadows?" he asked jovially, stretching out his hand to her, "Come, take the first dance with me."

Klara swallowed back the lump in her throat and a smile found its way onto her lips as she took his hand.

"Of course, dear one."

* * *

Loki stared at the pages of his book for a very long time without seeing a single word. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he snapped the book shut and swept to his feet, pacing the length and breadth of the room furiously. He could hear the music in his head, could feel the soft touch of fabric against his fingers, smell the holly wreathed around the room, see the fire gleaming against the marble tiles. Only it was all in his mind. He wasn't there, he couldn't _see..._

He stopped crisply, paused a moment, staring into the blank space before him. Then he waved his hand, an almost careless gesture, and a figure swirled into being before him, swathed in lavender and silver, her golden curls gleaming in the brilliant glare of the prison light, her blue eyes as piercing as they ever were. She was a perfect duplicate. Loki knew her now, knew every inch of her face, her expressions, the determined set of her shoulders, the length of her delicate fingers. He raised a hand to her and she smiled, lifting her own hand to meet his. Her fingers brushed his palm and he could almost imagine that he felt the ridges of her fingertips, though he really felt nothing at all. There was nothing there to feel. It was only a shadow, a vision floating in empty air, and he wondered, briefly, if this was what she saw, what she felt when she looked through his illusions and saw the truth buried within. And he wondered how she could bear it.

He dropped his hand and the shadow dropped hers as well, still smiling softly. The glimmer of his gifts hung gently about her, among the loose curls framing her face and just there against her collarbone, a manifestation of the stars that she longed to visit, but believed to be so painfully out of reach. He reached out and brushed the pendant at her throat.

"The stars knew not where their stations were..." he whispered absently.

Her smile widened, but the shadow did not speak. He dared not attempt to imitate her voice, though he knew its sound so well now. She spoke to him of trivial matters and he clung to her words in a way she would never fully comprehend, a remnant of the world from which he'd been cut off, but that some small part of him still desperately clung to, like a drowning man clings to anything to keep him afloat, even the broken remains of the boat that has betrayed him. But he did not dare to recreate that voice, for fear that some part of himself would bleed through and mar it in some way. That he could not stand.

He clasped his hands behind him and looked down at her. She tilted her head curiously, a look of amused puzzlement on her face. He got the impression that, had he allowed it, she would ask him what troubled him. And he could not tell her. There were no words for what kept his mind from settling tonight. He felt restless as he had not felt for weeks, even stuffed behind these infuriating walls. He needed to move, to see, to _feel..._

He snapped his feet together, his back rigidly straight, and gave a slight bow, formal and prim. Her eyes danced and she dipped into a low curtsy. Then he held out his hand, she took it, and together they danced to the music in his head.

* * *

"I have been hearing strange rumors about you, Klara," Andvari murmured as they spun across the smooth floor, "Things I had hoped to find resolved upon my return."

Klara's mouth went dry. A flash of sharp eyes in bright prison lights flitted through her mind and the silver against her collarbone burned briefly, but she forcefully pushed these things away.

"I continue to do my duties to the queen," Klara said softly, using the excuse of a sharp twirl to avert her eyes, "I do only what she bids of me."

Andvari scowled and looked on the verge of saying something harsh. Klara circumvented him by switching to his favorite topic.

"I have heard only good things of your work on Nidavellier," she said brightly, "Lady Frigga reads glowing reports of your honorable deeds from the prince and King Eitri. They speak most highly of you."

Andvari's shoulders straightened and his chin stuck out. Klara could see that he was pleased and she allowed the small knot between her shoulder blades to loosen.

"King Eitri is a wise ruler," Andvari said, "He has done well by his people, even in these trying times. But now that the crisis is over I am eager to rejoin Lord Thor in the battle against the Badoon."

"They are quite fierce, aren't they?" Klara said, "More clever than the Rock Trolls, I imagine."

He gave her a suspicious glance.

"You speak as one who has had dealings with these creatures."

The knot between Klara's shoulders returned.

"Only glimpses," she assured him, which was mostly true, "They seem terrible things. I worry for your safety."

He nodded, though he looked slightly less pleased than he had before.

"That is just as well," he said, as the first dance began to wind down and they swirled to a stop, "They are dangerous beasts, Klara. I would not ever want you to have reason to encounter one."

Without intending to, Klara thought of the Badoon prisoner that had lunged for her, his webbed fingers outstretched, his long, curved claws extended. She swallowed and dropped a small curtsy as the last notes of the song faded away, Andvari bowing only slightly so as to keep his eyes fixed on her. When they rose, and as those around them clapped for the musicians and the royal couple, Andvari leaned toward her, his eyes narrowed, as if he would say something else to her. Klara braced herself.

"Mistress Klara?"

She jerked and turned toward the vaguely familiar voice, grateful for any interruption...

...and then she stared, trying desperately not to let her mouth hang agape. Lord Thor stood behind her, grinning widely, the firelight glimmering on the gold fittings of his crimson cloak and glowing in his long, blonde hair. He bowed slightly to her and thankfully all of the etiquette Elli had worked so hard to inscribe on Klara's brain spurred her to action, resulting in a deep curtsy that she barely remembered performing.

"My lord Thor," she murmured, still in a bit of a daze that he even knew her name, "Forgive me, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, if you had not already pledged the next dance, I was hoping you might do me the honor," the prince said pleasantly, as if this were not the most unheard of occurrence in Klara's entire living memory. She blinked at him for a moment, dumbstruck, and in the intervening pause, he glanced over her shoulder.

"Andvari!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly, "Forgive me, my friend, had I known you had already claimed the dance for yourself..."

"Oh no, my lord!" Andvari said, sounding both flustered and eager, as if not quite certain which emotion he should embrace, "I have not made any claim on Klara's hand for this next set. Of course, if there is someone else..."

He gave Klara a pointed look and she rushed to fill the silence.

"No," she insisted, glancing back at the prince and putting on a smile, "No, of course not. I'd be delighted, my lord, of course."

Lord Thor glanced back and forth between them, but his smile remained in place, as if the whole thing were some marvelous game.

"Excellent!" he said, holding out his hand as the musicians tuned their instruments in preparation of the next piece, "Shall we, then?"

Klara took Lord Thor's hand, her fingers only trembling slightly, and with one last glance back at Andvari (who was wearing a perplexed scowl that she was glad the prince hadn't seen), allowed herself to be led back amongst the dancers.

* * *

The music in his mind was unending and Loki danced with his apparition for what felt like hours, quite nearly forgetting where he was. He could almost smell the holly garlands, could feel the heat of the fire as they swirled past the hearth, watched the light sparkle against her skin as it caught the pendants at her ears and collar. Once he barely missed catching her hand as she spun past and she reached out to him, her mouth open in silent laughter as she whirled away...

...and dissolved like mist in a breeze as she collided with the golden barrier of his cell. For a long moment, Loki stared blankly at the wall, his own hand still outstretched as if to catch her before she fell. But she wasn't there. She had never been.

Loki lowered his hand to his side, where it clenched into a fist. He turned a venomous glare toward the dungeon stairwell, that dark, empty void that swallowed up every noise and hint that there was an outside world beyond this accursed place. She was out _there._ They were all out _there,_ everyone he had once believed had cared about him, and would any of them spare even a thought for him? Would they see her, glittering among them, with his silent gifts upon her skin, and even for a moment think on him? Lady Frigga, perhaps. The girl was her penance, a constant reminder of the son she had failed. But the friends he'd once drank and fought with? Or the man he had once called his father? Would his brother, the man he had one Yule helped to consume an entire keg of mead in a fool-hearted attempt to out-drink Volstagg, spare him even a thought on this night of all nights...

He could picture Thor so vividly, glowing in all his splendor, his golden hair gleaming in the firelight, his hearty laugh echoing against the stones, the crimson in his robe a bright symbol of the celebration as he whirled across the wide room, holding the hand of a lovely girl in lavender and silver...

The side table flew past his shoulder and hit the golden barrier with a crack and a sizzle. Loki jumped and released his clenched fists, taking a sharp breath through his nose. He closed his eyes and forced the shaking fury inside him to cool. Thor wouldn't dare associate himself with someone so thoroughly ensconced in his disgraced brother's business. And even if he did, what did it matter to him? The girl was not his property. She could do as she pleased, _did_ do as she pleased, every moment she was not down in this dank pit with him. For all he knew, she might already belong to someone. In fact, he would be surprised if she didn't. She was far too… too…

Loki turned abruptly and flung himself back into his chair, calling a random book to his palm with a stinging slap. He flipped open the pages and stared down at the words with a stubborn sort of resolve, forcing breath through his nose and thoughts from his mind. Foolish thoughts... _dangerous_ thoughts...

* * *

"Mother speaks very highly of you."

Klara's thoughts snapped back from where they had strayed and she nearly stumbled over her own feet as she tried to execute a familiar spin across the marble floor. She had never been so nervous in her life. She was dancing with the crown prince of Asgard. People were staring at her as they passed, she could feel their eyes, but Lord Thor did not seem to be paying them any mind. He smiled pleasantly as he steadied her and she tried to think of some response that would not make her sound like an idiot.

"The queen is very kind," was all that she managed, not able to meet his gleaming blue eyes.

"She trusts you implicitly, I hope you know that."

He executed another perfect turn and this time Klara did not lose her footing. She felt a little of her shaken confidence return.

"I am honored by her unwavering faith," she said, as those eyes flashed under the bright prison lights of her mind once more.

"And how is my brother faring?"

She really did stumble this time, but Lord Thor caught her easily, sweeping her back onto her feet as gently as he would a vase about to lose its place on a pedestal, without ever missing a step.

"Forgive me," Klara stuttered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, as her feet tried to remember their steps, "Forgive me, my lord, I must have caught my foot."

"I fear it is I who should apologize," the prince said, his brow now furrowed, "I seem to have caught you unawares."

"Quite," Klara huffed with a nervous laugh that she quickly cut off, remembering who it was she was speaking to. She dropped her eyes to the marble, under the pretense of watching where she stepped as she turned beneath his arm, "I mean, I just didn't... I didn't think..."

"...didn't think I would ask about my wayward brother?"

He spoke so kindly, so gently, that Klara could not help but meet his gaze. His smile was just as kind, but there was a hint of concern about his eyes.

"I only want to be sure that you appreciate the precarious position you hold," he said, "Even locked in a cell, Loki is a dangerous creature, not to be trifled with."

Klara had to work very hard not to flinch at the word 'creature'. It was nothing she hadn't heard before, but on the prince's tongue, which had thus far held nothing but compassion, it sounded particularly harsh.

"I understand that you have certain... gifts..."

Klara felt a moment of flickering panic, the chain on her neck a burning weight, before she realized the prince meant something else entirely, something that couldn't be seen or felt, the curse that ran in her blood.

_...Abjurate..._

The word mocked her now as it echoed in her head.

"...but even that cannot save you from his tongue. You cannot trust anything that he says."

Again, this was nothing she hadn't heard before. She nodded to acknowledge the prince's words, but they were merely echoes of old sentiments. He seemed to sense this, because he sighed suddenly and the hand holding hers relaxed a bit.

"Forgive me," he said, "I am not trying to imply that you do not know your duty. I just..."

He paused and Klara glanced up, but he was not looking at her. She followed his eyes across the room to the raised dais, where the queen sat with the All-Father, listening intently to the words of some small noble come to air a grievance.

"I worry about her," he said finally, "This, all of it, was such a blow to her heart. I fear..."

He hesitated, and then shook his head. Klara could hear the music winding down, but it seemed very far away. He took both her hands in his and with a final, gentle twirl, they spun very slowly to a halt in the center of the room.

"I am so often away," he said, holding her gaze intently, "I cannot watch over her as I would like. But she trusts you, Mistress Klara, and so I put my trust in you as well. Look after my mother. Protect her from those that would do her harm, both body and soul."

Klara felt such a swell of affection for the prince then, that she could barely form words for the lump in her throat. She dipped her head and, with her hands still grasped in his, she curtsied so deeply that she was nearly kneeling on the marble floor.

"As my lord commands," she murmured, "And my heart leads."

Gently, he lifted her to her feet again and, with a radiant smile, the crown prince of Asgard and all the Nine Realms leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Klara's cheek. The music ended, the crowd applauded, and Lord Thor took his leave of her with a deep bow that should have been reserved for dignitaries and noblemen. Klara stared after him, feeling as if the air around her had gotten just a little heavier, the mantle of her duty made manifest.

She straightened beneath the weight, and turned toward the raised dais, where the queen was laughing at some joke Klara could tell she didn't find funny in the slightest. She caught a glimpse of Andvari as she swept past, but he was at a table with his fellow soldiers, drinking and laughing, and did not even look up as she passed him. That was well enough. Her duty came first.


	13. Chapter 13

With midwinter past, the palace settled back into a comfortable rhythm once more. The soldiers, including Andvari and Lord Thor, departed for the Badoon homeworld two days after the feast, leaving Klara no time to speak to Andvari about her continued service to the queen. She supposed that was just as well, though her stomach knotted at the thought of what he would say if he returned and she was still employed in Loki's care. He had clearly not changed his mind on the subject, despite several months' to settle his temper. But there was nothing she could do about it now. She served the Lady Frigga, and until such time as she was bid otherwise, Loki remained in her charge.

The day after the soldiers departed, Klara entered Lady Frigga's quarters, expecting a quiet day. No appointments were scheduled, the new year's intense cleaning had not yet begun, there were no requisitions or deliveries to be made. Klara was once again in her plain servants' tunic and she felt quite herself for the first time in weeks. She even thought, as she entered the queen's quarters, that she might manage to slip down to the dungeons for a moment in the afternoon to make sure Loki was not in need of any...

She jerked to a stop just inside the queen's sitting room. Lady Frigga was pacing frantically before the large windows that led onto the balcony, the light curtains fluttering in her wake, her hands knotting together over and over as she moved back and forth about the room, her eyes somewhere far away. Klara had not seen the queen this distraught since... since the day of Loki's sentencing. A hard lump formed in her throat and the silver chain that hung hidden beneath her tunic burned against her skin. She clasped her hands tightly behind her back and prepared for the worst.

"My lady?" she managed to say, the words sounding hollow and strange in her ringing ears, "Is everything alright?"

The queen pulled up short, eyes wide like a startled deer. But when they lighted on Klara she relaxed a little, her shoulders sagging just a bit under her light blue robes.

"Oh Klara," she said, sounding relieved, rubbing a hand over her eyes, "Yes, yes everything is alright. You must forgive me, I've..."

She paused and glanced around the room, her eyes even flicking over Klara's shoulder.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

Klara blinked, startled.

"I... believe so, my lady."

Lady Frigga's brow furrowed and after a moment, she waved Klara forward.

"Come, let's go to my office. I have things I need to see to at any rate."

Feeling perplexed and still slightly concerned, Klara followed. Lady Frigga glanced out the door once before shutting it firmly behind them.

"I've just seen my son."

Klara stared at the All-Mother for several moments, her brain having trouble processing the words she had just heard.

"But... Lord Thor is..."

Lady Frigga waved a hand in the air impatiently, once again taking up her frantic pacing around the perimeter of the office.

"Oh Klara, you know very well I am not speaking of Thor."

Klara stared for another few seconds. She _had_ known of course, she just hadn't... she couldn't...

"Why?"

The word slipped out of her mouth so suddenly that she couldn't catch it, but the queen didn't seem to notice her impertinence.

"I thought perhaps it was time," she said, still pacing, speaking almost as if to herself, "It's been several months now and with the start of the new year..."

"But, my lady, you are forbidden!" Klara exclaimed, a sudden panic welling up inside of her, "If you were caught anywhere near..."

"Oh I didn't actually go down there, dear, you needn't worry," Lady Frigga said distractedly, "No, that would be far too dangerous. I have other means, the guards will never see, will never know..."

Klara hesitated, then swallowed back her protests. Magic. The queen had used magic to see the captive prince. She thought of her promise to Lord Thor, to protect the queen from those that would do her harm. But how was she expected to protect her from herself?

"I needed to see him," Lady Frigga went on, still sounding as if she were talking more to herself than to Klara directly, "I had to see for myself, I had to know..."

She paused and her pacing slowed. She came to a stop at the window and gazed out at the gray sky overhead, thick with snow that was yet to fall.

"He is so angry..." she murmured.

Klara nearly flinched. She had seen the prince's anger before. She could only imagine what it must have been like for the queen, to see that burning fury in the eyes of a man she still called her son.

After a moment of silence, Lady Frigga's shoulders settled firmly and she turned back to the room, striding to her desk.

"I noticed a table that had been broken, I've put in a requisition for a replacement. It should be ready this afternoon if you could see that it's delivered."

Klara straightened at the commanding tone and nodded.

"Of course, my lady."

"And see that Elli has started on the lists for the new year's cleaning," the queen added as she sat gracefully at her desk and pulled up her holoscreen, "I would like to begin next week, if possible."

Klara nodded again, and then hesitated.

"Is there... anything I can do for you, my lady?"

The queen paused, her back still to Klara. Then she sighed and turned, wearing a tired smile.

"No," she said, "No, dear Klara, but thank you. It is very kind of you to ask."

Klara curtsied and then withdrew from the room, worrying that she had already failed in her duty to both the queen and Lord Thor.

* * *

Klara's visit to the dungeon that afternoon did nothing to ease her mind. Loki appeared quite calm, spread out along the lip of the nearest cell wall, book in hand, staring intently at the pages. The state of his cell, however, told a different story. There was not just the broken table, which looked as if it had been flung against the golden barrier and shattered. The books, which had always been in a haphazard stack contained to one corner, were now flung about the room like a pile of fallen leaves that some mischievous child had kicked through. Some of the spines were broken, errant pages lay scattered about the floor, and Klara could see at least one that looked as if it had exploded from its cover, bits of paper scattered in violent tufts. She could also tell at a glance that the lunch tray on Loki's desk hadn't been touched. A knot formed in her stomach, but she ignored it.

"Good day, my lord," she said, ignoring the wanton display of chaos, "I bring you a gift for the new year."

She brandished the new side table. Loki's eyes flicked up for a brief moment, and then back to his book. He turned a page.

"Take it back."

Klara's expression froze on her face. She lowered the table.

"You know I can't do that."

"I will not accept one thing more from those blatant _pretenders._ "

He snapped his book shut and swept to his feet, purposefully avoiding her gaze as he strode across the room and tossed the book onto what was left of the pile in the corner.

"Not one _matchstick._ Is it not enough that I am victim to their hypocrisy? Must I also be subject to their guilt-ridden _pity?"_

He flicked his wrist and another book flew into his open hand. He examined the cover absently as he paced the back wall of the cell, crunching over loose parchment in his wake.

"What right have they to force these things on me, stark reminders that I am at their mercy? That I will never have anything except by the command of those who oppress me? That I am nothing more to them than a monster in a glass case?!"

He whirled and shoved violently at the tray on his desk. He must have used some residual magic because it flew across the room and slammed into the golden barrier with such force that it splintered into pieces. Klara jumped back a step, and her hand flew to her mouth to suppress a cry. His burning eyes met hers, his chest heaving, his fists clenched. He stared at her for several seconds. Then something shifted, some of the fire ebbed away, and he suddenly looked... tired. And sad. And lost. He turned away abruptly, his shoulders sagging, and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Leave me," he said, his voice muffled, "And tell your mistress not to send you anymore. Your services are no longer required or… wished for."

The last two words came out more wistful than bitter and Klara hesitated, frozen to the floor, the small table still clutched in her hand. She could force the issue, of course. She had that right. She could bring a guard to subdue him while she made her delivery. But, somehow, she did not think that the Lady Frigga would want that. And she obeyed the Lady Frigga, even when she was not there to give the order. So instead she curtsied, even though he could not see.

"As you wish, my lord," she said, her voice soft and far gentler than she had anticipated.

She thought she saw him flinch. But she did not linger. She left the dungeon, her heart heavy, her mind whirling, and the table still in her hand.

And that night, Klara dreamed. She dreamed of a brightly lit prison cell filled with torn parchment and untouched food trays, of broken furniture and bedding covered in the dust of disuse. And curled in a corner, the shadow of a man who had once slain giants, who had once dreamed himself a ruler of worlds, now only a gaunt skeleton, wheezing and ragged, tendrils of dark, lanky curls matted about his face. He looked at her, his eyes nothing but dull, lifeless orbs in sunken sockets.

 _"I am nothing..."_ he said, in a hoarse rasp that echoed in her mind, _"Once I was a prince... then I was a monster... but now I am nothing..."_

His head fell to the side. And Klara woke screaming, covered in cold sweat, clutching at the silver chain around her throat.

* * *

After telling Lady Frigga what had happened, the queen agreed to give Loki a few days reprieve. But when the queen visited him again a week later, he still refused any contact, with her or with Klara. This was not the first time Klara had been dismissed from his presence, of course, but somehow it felt... different. She had frequently recurring nightmares, of the same variety she'd had that first night, each more frightening than the last, though they were much the same. She could see the prince wasting away, right before her mind's eye. She knew he would be refusing to eat. He wouldn't be sleeping either. She could remember the circles under his eyes, the limp quality of his hair, the way his clothes had begun to sag on his thin frame. Every detail came back to her more and more vividly with each passing day.

Two weeks and she began to work later hours, in the hopes that she would be too tired to dream. The new year's cleaning had begun in earnest and there was plenty to be done, though most of it would have been delegated to the lower members of the servants' echelon, the chambermaids and the footmen, the scullery maids and cooks' apprentices. But Klara took it upon herself to see many of these tasks completed, often working late into the night, even into the early hours of morning. And still, when she closed her eyes, all she saw were those dull, listless orbs staring back at her.

_I am nothing... once a prince... a son... a monster... now nothing... nothing..._

She had trouble eating on mornings after the nightmare, and she was often so busy with the cleaning that she would forget to sit for other meals, focusing on her tasks with a single-mindedness that she had rarely experienced before. She found that often the work which she delegated to others was substandard at best, causing her to frequently go over it again herself.

"No, _no!"_ she insisted, making Lin jump in alarm, "You cannot polish the window fittings _before_ the curtains are taken down, and that is not for three more days, what in all the realms do you think you're _doing?_ "

Lin stared at her, polishing cloth in hand, her brown eyes wide. Klara sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. She could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind her eyes.

"Just... go. Go find some other frivolous task, I can't be bothered with you right now."

Lin's face fell a little, but she dipped a curtsy and scurried off, her eyes fixed to the floor. Klara felt a twinge of guilt, but her headache was beginning to throb in earnest and she sighed, rubbing her temples, trying to dispel...

"Klara?"

She jumped and straightened instantly, spinning on her heel, hands clasped frantically behind her back. Lady Frigga stood in the archway, a parchment forgotten in her hand, staring at Klara with a sort of concerned curiosity.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, tilting her head, "I've just seen Lin in the corridor, she looked quite upset."

Klara clenched her jaw to keep from grimacing and resettled her chin.

"Yes, my lady," she said, "It's just the cleaning. I've sent her out to see to... something else."

Klara bit the inside of her cheek at her blunder. Her head was still pounding, it made it hard to think. The queen's head was still turned curiously to the side, staring at her. Klara clenched her fists even tighter behind her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Lady Frigga asked, "You look very tired. Perhaps you're working too hard."

"No, my lady," Klara said, trying to suppress the note of panic in her voice, "No, I'm... I'm fine. A little tired, but it has been very busy in the palace of late. I assure you, I'm perfectly alright."

To Klara's horror, the queen looked less than convinced. A frown had now formed on her face, a crease in her brow, and Klara realized then that the queen looked very tired too. She felt another twinge of guilt that she should take up so much of the All-Mother's time on trifles and she shifted slightly on her feet, dropping her eyes to the marble floor.

"I'm fine, my lady," she murmured, before she realized that she was repeating herself.

There was a pause.

"All the same," the queen said, and her voice was kind and gentle, "I think you should take the day and get some rest."

Klara felt that stab of panic again and she jerked herself upright.

"Oh, no that isn't necessary, my lady, I assure you, there is too much..."

The queen held up her hand and Klara fell silent.

"The cleaning will still be here in the morning," she insisted, "And it will do you good to take some time for yourself. I'll hear no arguments on the matter."

Klara shut her mouth, which had just opened to protest again, and dropped her eyes back to the tile.

"As you wish, my lady."

Lady Frigga nodded, and lowered her eyes to the parchment in her hand.

"Now, go get some food and rest," she said distractedly, "I'll see you in the morning."

Klara dropped her customary curtsy and shuffled past the queen into the main sitting room and out into the corridors.

Had she looked up from the floor, or glanced back over her shoulder, she might have caught the queen's eye as she watched her go, her gentle brow still furrowed in a line of concern.

* * *

"Klara is worried about you, I think."

Loki did not move. He sat with his legs stretched out along the raised edge of the cell wall, his back to the corner, one of his books in his lap. He did not allow his face to betray emotion of any kind. After a long pause, Frigga moved forward, stepping around the well-made bed that he hadn't touched since she'd sent it, and into his line of sight over the book's cover. He did not acknowledge this movement in anyway, did not look up from the pages of Alfheim poetry that had not held his attention in several weeks. She crossed her arms and frowned at him.

"She's not eating."

Loki touched his finger to his tongue and primly turned a page.

"She's not sleeping either."

Loki's eyes settled on the first line of the page, the words no more than a smudge against his vision.

"She's working herself into the ground to keep the appearance that she isn't concerned in the slightest, that nothing whatsoever is amiss," Frigga said, a hint of stubborn irritation in her tone, "But I know better. I can see it in her eyes. They are the same eyes I see each time I glance into a mirror."

She turned away in a huff, and only then did Loki allow himself a glance up from his book. He watched as her shoulders settled, as she took a deep, soothing breath, her composure returned.

"I don't know how you did it," she murmured softly, her back still to him, "But you have somehow given her cause to care about what happens to you."

She spun so quickly that he barely had time to drop his eyes back to the book in his hand. She watched him, her hands clasped before her.

"You're killing her," she said and the smudges of words on the page disappeared, "I hope you know that."

With a flicker of golden light, Frigga vanished from the cell. For a long time, Loki did not look up. He stared down into his hands, which might as well have been empty for all the good the book did him. Slowly, meticulously, he shut the cover and stared into the empty space before him, the words echoing in his ears.

_You're killing her..._

The next day, he sent a guard to fetch the girl.


	14. Chapter 14

Though the queen had ordered Klara to rest, she had gotten less sleep that night than on any other night previous. Every time her eyes had closed, the dream had haunted her, following her until she woke, again and again, trying to escape it. She returned to Lady Frigga's chambers irritated that she had wasted an entire day for nothing. She had just set to work taking the curtains down when one of the Einherjar entered the queen's parlor and paused at stiff attention. Klara's throat knotted in a painful lump before she realized that it wasn't Andvari, but Daven under the golden helmet, his brown eyes dancing merrily as he saluted her.

"Forgive me, Mistress Klara," he said in a formal tone that did not suit the smirk on his face, "But you have been requested in the dungeons."

Klara's heart jumped against her ribs, pounding against the sparkling pendant still hidden beneath her tunic. She tried not to panic, but all she could see where those hollow eyes, hear that rasping voice...

"Is anything the matter?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"Oh no, nothing at all," Daven said, and Klara felt the knot of anxiety loosen in her chest, "In fact, if you are busy I can return..."

"She's not."

Klara jumped. Lady Frigga had emerged from her study so suddenly that she had not even heard her enter. Apparently Daven hadn't either because he jumped too and then bowed low.

"My lady Frigga," he said reverently, "Forgive me, I did not realize..."

But Lady Frigga waved away his apologies impatiently.

"Mistress Klara is not busy with anything that cannot wait until her return."

The queen gave Klara a pointed look and she knew that, even had she wanted to protest, she would not have been able to. She dropped her eyes and clasped her hands demurely in front of her.

"Of course, my lady," she murmured, dropping a soft curtsy, "I will return as soon as I may."

She could feel Lady Frigga's approving smile following her as she stepped out of the curtains and hurried after Daven, through the royal quarters and out into the main halls. Her mind was racing. She had been summoned. That had never happened before. She did not know whether it should worry her or not. Anticipation rolled in her empty stomach. She had been away for three weeks now. What would she find, down in the dungeons?

Daven brought her to the familiar stairwell and stopped, disengaging the lock with a wave of his hand. He turned and must have caught some hint of anxiety on her face.

"Would you like me to walk down with you?" he asked, "It would be no trouble."

Klara swallowed, then shook her head. Daven had many other duties to see to, and this was something Klara felt she could, and should, face on her own.

"No, thank you," she said, forcing a brave smile, "I'll be fine."

Without waiting for a response, Klara walked into the dark, letting the cool air of the dungeon swallow her up, taking her time down the steep stairs, letting her mind acclimate to the feeling of closeness again. She paused only a moment at the bottom to steel her resolve before she stepped into the pale light of the dungeon corridors.

There was a loud chorus of surprised hoots and calls to her left, the Rock Trolls still held imprisoned for their rebellion on Nidavellir. Klara walked past with her head held high, hands clasped behind her, remembering and preparing for what came next. Loud hissing and screeches came from her right as what remained of the Badoon insurgents caught sight of what the Rock Trolls had already seen, but Klara did not grace them with a reaction of any kind. A sort of pride well up inside her that, even after all this time, she could still walk among such fearsome creatures without thought or fear. They were nothing to her, just noise in a sea of noises, no more than distractions.

No. What she truly feared lay beyond these petty monsters. Her steps echoed loudly in her ears as she approached the far cell, glowing as if it possessed a halo of light all its own, though she knew that to be only a figment of her anxious mind. She forced her feet to continue on, even when all she wanted was to slow them down, her eyes fixed on the walkway. She knew the steps by heart now, knew exactly how far she must go before she stood before the golden barrier. She took a long breath in the last few steps and, when she reached the familiar place among the flagstones, she executed a sharp turn, bracing herself for whatever she might find.

He was staring at her. He stood as she did, hands clasped behind him, back rigid, staring at her with an emotionless expression on his face. He was thin, but not skeletal. Clearly he hadn't been eating enough. The tray on his desk held the remains of a half-eaten sandwich. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but his gaze was hardly listless or dull. In fact, it was so sharp that once Klara realized she was meeting his eyes, she flinched away, sending her eyes skittering over the rest of the cell. She recognized a new addition to the furniture, the bed from Loki's room in the royal quarters, but it looked like it hadn't been touched. Instead, the small pillow and blanket that Klara had brought so many months ago still lay upon the velvet settee, rumpled and clearly used, though fitfully it seemed. He wasn't sleeping well. But he wasn't wasting away.

He wasn't dying.

Some weight that Klara hadn't even realized she'd been wearing lifted from her body. She felt as if she might just rise from the floor and float away. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and let out a long, weary breath. She hadn't realized how very tired she was. It felt like every bit of her strength was needed just to open her eyes again.

Loki was still staring at her, his eyes flickering over every inch, watching every movement with a conscious intensity.

"You look tired," he said, with a sudden sharpness, "And thin."

Klara jerked and dropped her eyes.

"You are mistaken, my lord," she answered quietly, "I am quite well."

The truth was her stomach felt as if it was trying to claw its way through her abdomen. When _was_ the last time she had eaten? But she wasn't about to admit anything to _him._

"You should take better care of yourself," he said, "After all, what good are you, to yourself or to anyone, if you are dead?"

The parroting of her own words startled Klara so much that her eyes flew to meet his almost involuntarily. He was smirking, his eyes twinkling as if at some private joke. She straightened primly, not allowing any emotion to show on her own face.

"You sent for me, my lord?"

This only seemed to amuse him further. His smirk widened.

"I was told you were ill," he said, waving a hand and turning away, flinging himself into his chair with an air of boredom, "Clearly I was misinformed."

"Clearly," Klara agreed, her eyes narrowed. Who would have told Loki that she was...?

Frigga. The All-Mother had seemed rather concerned for her well-being the previous day. But why would she have spoken of such concerns to _Loki_? And, perhaps more importantly, what would it matter to him? Klara set her jaw against such thoughts. It was not her place.

"If you've no further need of me, my lord, I have things I must see to," she said, a crisp snap to her voice that she had not necessarily intended. She was just so tired. She turned to go.

"Do you dream?"

Loki's voice, calm and steady, froze her to the spot. She dared not turn back. She knew she would see only the cell from her nightmares, the broken trappings, the torn pages, the shattered man.

_...now I am nothing..._

She shut her eyes tight and shuddered, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She could not give him this, could not allow him to hold this power over her...

"When I close my eyes I see the stars."

His voice was closer than before, but still Klara would not turn back, would not open her eyes. The smooth silk of his words brushed over her and she let them, but she would not give him what was in her heart.

"But they burn too brightly and too close, like sharp needles of light to the eye. That's what you see in the vacuum of space, with no planetary atmosphere to obscure their brilliance. I've heard people say they are beautiful. I suppose they are, after a fashion. They are beautiful in the same way a newly forged dagger is beautiful, and cut just as deep."

She could see it. It was like painting a picture in her mind with his words, and for a brief moment she thought this was the closest she might ever come to touching magic.

"But the stars are not alone," he said softly, gently, "Out there in the dark. There are things that live among them, but are not a part of them. Monsters in the shadows of their light, they feed on the dark void, on the screams of the lost."

Something swelled in her chest, some horror that she couldn't place, the deeply ingrained fear that all children feel when they face monsters in their closets or underneath their beds.

"That is what I dream," he said, "Of stars, and monsters in the dark."

Klara felt tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She hardened her expression before she turned to look at him. He was facing her, but his eyes were far away, seeing something that she could not hope to see, nor would she ever wish to. She was reminded of the way he had twitched and shuddered in his sleep and she wondered: Had he been dreaming of these things then? Had that been the thing that haunted his nights and nearly taken his life from him?

"What did you do?" she asked.

He blinked his eyes back into focus and smiled slyly.

"Nothing," he said, "They come and go now though lately they seem to come more than they go. I think it might have something to do with..."

He paused, then shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter," he said nonchalantly, "What matters is they do go eventually, Mistress Klara. But I've heard it helps to give them a voice on occasion."

Klara hesitated. Loki waited.

"I..." She paused, then tried again, "My dreams are... are small."

"No dream is small," he said, his eyes boring into hers with a great force that held none of his trademark humor, "Dreams encompass the whole of our reality. In the moment we are dreaming, they are the entire universe of our minds. That is never a small thing."

Klara swallowed.

"I dream of... losing something. Something that I do not even really possess, that I could never... I dream that it wastes away until..."

She stopped, the words frozen on her tongue.

_...I am nothing..._

"You cannot lose something if you never possessed it," Loki said, with careful deliberation, "If you dream that you've lost it, then you must lay claim to it, even if your conscious thoughts do not acknowledge the possession. Some part of you, no matter how small, has claimed it as your own."

Klara stared at him for several moments. Neither of them spoke, but she could see him trying to piece her together, trying to read her thoughts on her face, trying to interpret the meaning of her words. She deliberately set her jaw and blanked her expression. He could not hold this power over her. She would not allow him to see this part of her, this part that even she did not wish to see.

His smirk returned.

"Very well," he said, as if conceding an argument Klara had not even known they were having, "Keep your secrets, Mistress Klara. I suppose I have enough of my own to make that fair."

Klara felt a flicker of relief as his eyes turned away from her, waving his hand toward the book pile and calling a green and silver volume to his outstretched fingers.

"Tomorrow, bring that table back down, would you?" he said casually, flipping the cover open and thumbing through the pages, "Its absence vexes me."

Klara suppressed a smile of her own and dropped a curtsy.

"As you wish my lord," she said, turning to leave...

"The necklace suits you, by the way."

Klara gave a panicked start and clutched reflexively at the diamond pendant hidden beneath her tunic. She glanced back. Loki was smirking again, his eyes dancing mischievously over the top of his book.

"I knew that it would."

Klara frowned, an irrational anger boiling up inside her. He dared presume...? But she didn't respond, didn't bother with more than a glare. Instead she whirled away from him, striding toward the dungeon stairwell, barely hearing the Badoon and the Rock Trolls over the sound of Loki's quiet chuckle echoing in her ears.

* * *

They went on as if nothing had happened, as if the two had never been parted. Klara's appetite inexplicably returned and her sleep patterns rearranged themselves, though she was still often tired (the cleaning schedule Elli had devised was rigorous and long). Lady Frigga did not mention Klara's visit to Loki's cell, and in return Klara did not voice her suspicion that the queen had anything to do with it. Loki never mentioned his mother, though Klara knew the queen still paid him visits on occasion. She became quite adept at determining when one of these had been made. The queen was always distant and distracted, Loki irritable and short, and Klara soon learned not to make her own visits to his cell on the same days if possible.

They did not speak of dreams again, but Loki had been right. Klara's dreams became far more infrequent though they never truly went away. They shifted now, killing him in different ways, not just starvation and exhaustion. The worst was a few days before Andvari was scheduled for a short leave from the Badoon homeworld. Klara dreamed of Loki on the floor of his cell, his throat laid open, his chest soaked in crimson, and Andvari standing over him with a grim smile, his sword dripping wetly on the prison floor. It was the first time in weeks that Klara woke screaming. She had not been able to sleep again afterward.

Andvari returned with his battalion at the end of that week and though Klara was present to meet them at the Bridge, between the ceremonial receiving by the king and the celebration that followed, she did not have a real chance to speak to him. This was to be expected, of course. She had not even intended to join in the merry-making at the tavern that night, knowing Andvari would be far more interested in catching up with his friends in the guard and sharing his good fortune with them, but to her surprise, she was accosted at the end of the All-Father's solemn address by the most unlikely person.

"Mistress Klara!"

The loud, boisterous voice carried clearly over the heads and voices of all others present and, as one, the crowd turned toward the towering giant of a man now making his way eagerly straight toward her. Klara stared, nearly open-mouthed, as Lord Volstagg the Voluminous shoved his way through the gaping onlookers and clapped her so enthusiastically on the shoulder that she nearly stumbled.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, "I believe I owe you a drink!"

Klara vividly remembered their last conversation, of course, down in the dungeons so many months ago, but she had never _really_ thought... had never even _imagined..._

"Oh, my lord, that really isn't..."

But she was cut off by a good-natured shake of her shoulder that made it nearly impossible to speak.

"Nonsense!" he said, dragging her off in the general direction of the city square, where the closest tavern stood, "I said I'd hold you to it, and I'm holding you to it! You can't have any duties to take you away now, can you?"

He looked down at her and winked. Klara blinked and opened her mouth a few times, but no fresh protests came to mind. She did not, in fact, have any duties that were insistent upon her time right then (though she had hoped to manage a quick slip down into the dungeons, not knowing when she might be able to return again, but she could hardly tell that to Lord Volstagg, could she?) and the big man's enthusiasm was a bit infectious. She would honestly hate to disappoint him. She smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"Very well," she said, "Just one."

Lord Volstagg beamed.

* * *

The tavern that night was full to bursting with soldiers, all returned from the last of the Badoon conflicts, all telling stories of their daring deeds and heroics. But none so loudly or as animated as Lord Volstagg, who sat Klara down at the largest table in the center of the room, poured her an ale so tall it would easily take her the whole night (and possibly part of the next day) to drink, and began regaling her with the most outrageous tales of the civil conflicts that had raged on the Badoon homeworld and the worlds adjoining, and his _clearly_ invaluable role in bringing the whole situation to a halt.

"So I told 'em," he said, well into his second tankard and leaning in close to relay the full impact of his words to her, "I told 'em, I said, 'If you have such a problem with 'em, why not just let 'em take the world and go on your own way? That'd make everybody happy!'"

"I imagine they didn't take to that idea too well," Klara said, grinning into her own mug as she took a delicate sip.

"Right you are!" he said, waving his tankard at her and sloshing a bit of ale onto the table, "So I just had to dispatch with the lot of 'em. Took one swing with my axe, it did, problem solved!"

Klara laughed, but only because she knew it to be highly unlikely that Lord Thor would have allowed Lord Volstagg to massacre an entire Badoon battalion for little more than disagreeing with him, even had he been able to. She took another sip of her ale, beginning to feel pleasantly comfortable for the first time in a long while...

"Klara."

She nearly choked. Andvari had appeared beside her nearly out of nowhere, the faint hint of a glower shadowing his face.

"Ah, young Andvari!" Lord Volstagg shouted, waving his now thankfully empty tankard in his direction, "Have a seat, lad! Another round over here!"

The mug hit the tiles of the tavern with a loud crash and the whole assembly cheered. All except Klara and Andvari who were staring at each other. That vaguely unpleasant expression had not left Andvari's face, though he was now smiling for Lord Volstagg's benefit.

"Perhaps later, my lord," Andvari said, his pleasant tone not matching his eyes in the slightest, "I wonder, Klara, if I might speak to you in private."

Klara swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. Andvari had turned down a drink with Lord Volstagg. Whatever he meant to discuss with her, she suddenly had an overwhelming desire to postpone it for as long as possible.

"I fear I am in no fit state to discuss any matters of importance right now, dear one," she said, lifting her large mug off the table slightly, "Perhaps tomorrow instead? I am anxious to hear tales of your battles."

"One of the bravest warriors in the battalion!" Lord Volstagg declared enthusiastically, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air, "He's done Asgard proud, you can be sure of that!"

Andvari nodded with a calm politeness in acknowledgment of this praise.

"I seek only to serve the Nine Realms the best way I can," he said, his eyes narrowing pointedly at Klara, though she couldn't imagine why. Did he not think that she also served the Nine Realms? She was handmaiden to the All-Mother herself!

She opened her mouth to say something that she might possibly have regretted, but was interrupted by a chorus of loud squeals. A group of children suddenly descended on the tavern en masse, swarming around Lord Volstagg who laughed and gathered them all to him affectionately.

"Mistress Klara, my children!" he said obvious pride, "Come I would have you meet them, and my wife also!"

Klara glanced back at Andvari, who bowed slightly in acquiescence.

"I shall call on you tomorrow, Klara."

Then he swept from the tavern, Klara following him with her eyes, feeling a sense of foreboding in his wake. Her dream flashed vividly in her mind and she shuddered.

A small hand tugged on her skirt and she looked down into a pair of wide hazel eyes surrounded by beautiful red curls.

"Is it true that you've seen Rock Trolls?" the little girl asked in a sort of awed fascination.

Klara grinned and leaned over to stare directly into the child's large eyes.

"Yes," she said gleefully, "They are large, hairy beasts and I am told they gobble up children whole!"

At which she reached out and snatched at the child, who squealed delightedly and scampered away, which made Lord Volstagg roar with laughter. And once Klara had been properly introduced to his children and his wife (who came along later, looking harried, but pleased), Klara found it quite impossible to retain her feeling of gloom and she managed to put Andvari out of her mind for one more evening.

* * *

But as with all such things, it did not last. Though Klara was busy with her duties all the next morning, Andvari was knocking on her door shortly after the noon meal. Klara answered with that same sense of foreboding, trying to mask it with a pleasant smile.

But rather than invite her out for a stroll in the gardens or about the palace courts as he had in the past, Andvari forced himself past her into the room beyond. Klara stared at him, the door to her quarters still held ajar in her hand. He had never insinuated himself into her space like this, not once. It wasn't like him, this breach of etiquette, he had always been so careful to keep up appearances. But now he paced the room, apparently unaware that he had done anything out of the ordinary, and Klara watched him with a sort of blank stare. He was clearly agitated, frantic even, the scowl on his face plain. Klara stepped toward him, hoping to somehow soothe him, but instead he strode right by her and shut the door, then resumed his pacing, back and forth in front of the doorway, while Klara continued to stare, speechless.

"I thought it was just an assignment," he said finally, a furious mutter that sounded more as if he were speaking to himself, "A task to be completed. Had I _known_ , I would have taken more fervent measures, a firmer hand in the beginning. That's what is needed, clearly, I should have seen it from the first, I suppose you can't be blamed for my lapse in judgment, I should have done more to protect you from him, but _now?_ Now what am I to do? When all the palace whispers of it? It cannot go on!"

Andvari's sudden shout resonated in the tiny room and Klara flinched. His hands waved in wild gestures as he continued to pace.

"I have worked too hard, come _too far_ , to have it all ruined by association with a... a... _traitor's whore_!"

Klara jerked back as the words stung her, like barbs to the chest, and her legs bumped into the desk at her back. Andvari was still pacing, drawing closer, filling the room with the fumes of his simmering anger. Klara swallowed, dropped her eyes, let her hair drift over her face, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

"I'm not."

The words came out as a dry whisper, almost too soft for her own ears to hear.

Andvari stopped pacing.

"What did you say?" he said, his voice sharp and smooth as a steel blade.

"I'm... I'm not... his whore," Klara managed to stutter out. Her whole body was shaking. She could feel the pendant hidden beneath her tunic, pulling at her collar, weighing her down, making it difficult to draw breath. She could not even lift her head. She was small, and weak, and she was not made for this.

Andvari took one carefully placed step toward her. She could feel the heat of his glower as he drew himself up, filling the room with his presence. Klara cowered against her desk.

"I don't care-" he growled, "-if you are his cart horse. It will cease. Immediately. You will go to the Lady Frigga, resign your post if you must. You won't be needing it anyway. We can discuss-"

"No."

Andvari jerked back, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape.

"What did you say to me?"

He sounded every bit as shocked as Klara felt. The word had slipped her lips in a fit of panic, a vision swimming in her mind's eye, a prisoner, once a prince, once a son, curled in a forgotten corner, wasting away, dying. And she couldn't let it happen. She couldn't. It took all of her courage, every ounce of her strength, but Klara managed to stand upright, to lift her eyes to Andvari's.

"I said... no," she repeated, her voice shaking with the effort it took to speak the words, "I will not go to Lady Frigga, I will not resign my post. It is my _responsibility_ to-"

_CRACK!_

Andvari's hand came out of nowhere and struck her hard across the face. She could taste iron and knew that she had cut the inside of her mouth. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes and tried to make the room stop spinning, just long enough to raise her head. Andvari was staring at his hand as if he didn't recognize it.

"Oh Klara..." he whispered breathlessly, "Klara, I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean... I don't know what came over me, I just..."

"Get out."

Klara was surprised by the biting chill of her voice. Her words did not waver. She was no longer shaking. She could feel the hot imprint of his hand stinging her skin. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Klara, please..." Andvari insisted, taking a tentative step, "Please if you would just listen to reason..."

"Get. Out." she said, "Or I shall call a guard to remove you."

Andvari paused, then narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't do that."

Klara's head quirked to the side. Then she reached behind her and pressed a button on her console. There was a chime, and a cheerful voice echoed out of the desk.

"Daven of the Einherjar. Hello there, Klara. What can I do for you?"

Andvari's eyes widened and she could see his breath catch. She didn't care. She just glared and waited. Finally, Andvari clenched his jaw and nodded once.

"Klara?" Daven's friendly voice was laced with a hint of concern now, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Daven," Klara said, her voice pointed and forcibly carefree, "I believe I've dealt with the problem on my own. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Oh that's alright," Daven responded, sounding cheerful again and slightly relieved, "Always a pleasure to hear from you. Call if you need anything."

"Thank you, I certainly will."

She disconnected the comm, her eyes never leaving Andvari, who was still glaring at her.

"Very well," he said, nodding his head in a mock sort of bow, "I will leave you. But you should think on what has been said here, Klara. And know that the actions you have taken cannot be reversed."

Klara said nothing, just continued to glare at him pointedly until he turned and left the room.

It was not until he had been gone for a very long while that Klara allowed herself to shake again. She slid to the floor by her desk and shook until tears came to her eyes, and then cried until exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep curled on the floor.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for all the kind words for this fic, and for the last chapter in particular. It was a difficult chapter to write and I confess I wasn't sure how it would be received. But all the feedback I've received has been nothing but encouraging and wonderful. I know I've been a little slow to respond to individual reviews, and I plan to fix that soon, but for now: You guys are awesome :D Thank you! And now, the aftermath!

The next day, Klara rose and prepared to attend on Lady Frigga as normal. But as she was preparing, she glanced into a mirror... and froze. There was a mark on her face. It wasn't terribly dark, but it was there all the same, the imprint of a hand across her cheek. She brushed it with her fingers and hissed at the stinging ache. Definitely a bruise.

Then Klara started to panic. She couldn't hide the mark. All of the normal remedies for such things involved glamours or healing stones. In other words, magic. But she also couldn't very well go to the Lady Frigga looking like _this_. Klara stood paralyzed for several minutes, trying to think. Her first instinct was to call Elli. Elli would know what to do, Elli would help her come up with a plausible story, something to save face, as it were. But almost as soon as the idea occurred to her she dismissed it. If she called Elli, she would have to explain and... she couldn't bear the thought of relaying the whole awful mess to Elli. All of her plans, everything the older woman had ever dreamed for her... and Klara had just thrown it away. For a traitor. No, she couldn't call Elli.

But maybe... maybe Eir could be persuaded to help her. Klara knew her only by reputation, but she was the most skilled healer in the all the Nine Realms. If there was anything, anything at all to be done, Eir would know it.

Firmly resolved, Klara sent a notice of sudden illness to the All-Mother, informing her that she was making a visit to the healers, and then closed the screen before she could change her mind. She had to hurry if she wished to miss the morning rush of nobles and servants cluttering up the corridors.

* * *

"What in all the realms and beyond happened to you?!"

Klara stood tall and prim before the stern older woman, her hands clasped behind her, her eyes firmly fixed on a spot just over the Master Healer's left shoulder.

"I was hoping you might have something to obscure the mark," she said, pointedly ignoring Eir's question, "I have duties I must see to, but I don't wish the All-Mother worried unnecessarily."

Eir gave her a narrow-eyed stare, but though she looked like she might want to, she didn't press the issue. Instead she turned to the console behind her and, with a few taps on the keys, brought up an array of brightly lit boxes.

"Of course, a glamour would be the best option," Eir muttered, flipping through her screen absently.

"I am aware," Klara said bitterly.

Eir glanced back over her shoulder.

"Not for you though, I suppose," she said, clearly choosing to ignore Klara's outburst and turning back to her screen, "Not with your condition. I could make up a poultice. It won't hide the mark, but it will speed up the healing."

"How long?"

The healer shrugged.

"Depends on the injury," she said, picking one of the brightly lit boxes and widening it with her fingers, "A week, perhaps two? The bruising will escalate the first few days, you should start to see improvement after that."

"Is there nothing else?" Klara asked, feeling a little of her desperation slip into her voice.

Eir gave her a pointed look.

"Aside from telling her majesty the truth, you mean?"

Klara flinched. The healer sighed.

"No, I'm afraid not," she said with a sort of resigned huff, "The most I can do is give you a notice of bed rest for the first few days. It won't do much, but it should keep you out of the gossips' mouths at least."

Klara felt her shoulders sag. She had not even considered that.

_...all the palace whispers of it..._

She shook off the echoes and nodded decisively.

"Very well," she said, "I thank you for your help and kindness, Mistress Eir."

The healer rolled her eyes and turned back to her console.

"Don't thank me," she muttered, "I'm not doing this willingly. Sit over there and I'll make this up."

* * *

Eir was as good as her word. She sent in the notice of bed rest to Lady Frigga before Klara had even left the Healers' Hall and Klara had a personal message from the queen waiting on her desk, wishing her well and a speedy recovery. She applied the poultice faithfully as Eir had instructed and each day the mark grew more pronounced, the hand print more vivid in a bright purple and blue. Klara began to avoid her mirror, and really all reflective surfaces.

It was only by chance that she saw the light blinking on her desk console the evening of her third day of leave, even more happenstance that she chose to open the message and read it. It was a summons, succinct and brief, sent early the previous day.

**Your presence has been requested by the prisoner, Loki. At your earliest convenience, report to the dungeons.**

Klara hesitated. She read the message again. No further information was given, no hint as to why she had been asked for. She caught a glimpse of her face in the glass of the desk. The bruising had started to subside. There was still a mark, but it was not so pronounced now. And in the dim light of the dungeons... who could tell mark from shadow? Besides, she was due to return to her duties in the morning anyway. It was time she ventured out and tried to acclimate to the palace again.

She closed the message and dressed in her usual servants' tunic and leggings. She kept her hair down, the better to throw shadow against her face. Then she took a deep breath and stepped out of her room, heading toward the dungeons.

* * *

Loki might not have even concerned himself with it. After all, it was not unusual for people to fall ill. It happened all the time. But something about the way Frigga spoke, something in the way she moved her hands, _something_ about it made him wonder. She did not even seem certain as to the nature of the girl's illness. That piqued his interest a bit. So he sent for the girl. Just to see. Just to be sure.

He waited a full day before he allowed any unease to creep into his thoughts. He woke from a particularly nasty dream in the dead of night, and the anxiety hit him full in the chest like a blow from his brother's hammer. He suppressed it hurriedly, but he could not sleep again. He tried to read, but soon got bored and irritated with the books that he chose. He tried to write, a scattering of thoughts across the blank pages on his desk, but his thoughts only annoyed him in their repetitive idiocy.

_Where was she? Where could she be? Was she...?_

He crumpled the paper and tossed it beneath his bed in angry frustration.

He did not eat that night. He couldn't stomach the thought of the stew on his tray. He stared at it, glowering at the steam rising from the bowl as if it had done something offensive, but he could not manage a single mouthful. Finally, he threw up one of his illusions and began to pace his cell, long, sharp strides, back and forth. It had been nearly two days since he'd sent his message. What sort of illness did she have that she could not be bothered to even send a reply? What sort of horror...?

The door to the dungeon opened and he froze. He resisted, with every fiber of his being, the urge to rush to the barrier, to press his face to the golden wall like a child staring into a glass menagerie. He turned slowly and walked with determined purpose toward the cell's wall. He could hear the hoots and calls of the Rock Trolls, mindless brutes that they were. He managed to reach the barrier and peer down the corridor just as the Badoon began to hiss in unison, like a chorus of snakes. He felt his lip curling and worked hard to suppress it. As much as he disliked the Rock Trolls, he positively loathed the Badoon. The Rock Trolls could not help that they were stupid. The Badoon were willfully ignorant, and that irked him much more.

He could see her striding haughtily past them and it made a smirk touch his lips, the way she held her head higher in their presence, a show of proud determination in the face of those who would demean her, refusing to give quarter. He edged back a bit now that he had seen her, allowing her to approach at her own pace, to settle herself into the position they were both so familiar with, her back rigid and straight, hands clasped firmly behind her, holding her steady. He watched her with eyes that missed no beat of her stride, no hitch of breath, no flutter of eye.

Had he not been looking for something, some sign of her illness, he might have missed it in the shadows of the dungeon lights. But there was something... something on her face. A shadow thrown by no discernible source...

"You sent for me, my lord?" she said, her voice a practiced neutral.

He did not answer her, his brow furrowed, his eyes drawn to that unnatural mark on her cheek. He stepped forward a pace or two, trying to get a better look, and she flinched almost imperceptibly, turning her face just a touch to the side, away from the light of his cell. She did not meet his eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on a point just beyond his shoulder. He paused, then bent to look closer.

...a bruise. There was a dark bruise, just the size and shape of a hand print, splayed across her pale skin. Loki felt the room around him start to tremble. His hands bunched into fists behind his back and he straightened, slowly, deliberately, afraid if he moved too quickly the fire building in his chest might explode out of him and burn everything in his cell to ash.

"Has that been dealt with?" he asked. For all the hot, blaze was eating through him, his voice was surprisingly cold.

Klara clenched her jaw and he saw her swallow.

"I've... taken care of it, my lord," she said carefully, "There's no need to..."

"Let me rephrase the question," Loki bit out, cutting her off, "Is the one who touched you still _living?_ "

He could hear the fury spilling into his voice, the words spit out like poisonous venom. Klara swallowed again.

"He is."

"Then it has _not_ been sufficiently _dealt with_."

A book cracked against the golden wall to his right and Klara jumped, her eyes darting about the cell. With great effort, Loki shut his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He did not wish to frighten her. That was not his intention. He took another breath and felt the room settling. He opened his eyes. She was watching him, gauging his temper. He gave her half a grin and leaned toward her, as if to whisper a delightful secret.

"If I ever discover who it is that has dared lay a hand to you," he said, a hint of gleeful anticipation in his voice, "He will _wish_ you had killed him."

Klara stiffened and, though he could still see the hint of fear lingering in her eyes, her jaw set in a familiar expression of stubborn determination.

"That won't be necessary."

"On the contrary, dearest, it is _very_ necessary," he said, his thoughts straying to all the delightfully horrid things he could do to the brute that had struck her, the chaos he could inflict, the panic, the _pain_ , "No one touches one of mine... _no one._ "

The girl blinked.

"One of yours?"

Her soft voice brought him up short, his thoughts brought sharply and vividly back to the present. What had he said? Had he been so deep in his own thoughts...? He whirled away from her, not allowing her to see any hint of a slip.

"Yes, well," he said, putting all his considerable charm to work in making his tone nonchalant, careless, "You have served me well these many months. Even monsters are known to have a sense of loyalty on occasion, and I-"

"I don't think you're a monster."

He stopped. No, in point of fact he _froze_ , unable to move even had he wanted to. He did not dare look back at her, but he could imagine her face just from the breath of her words, the way they had seemed to waft into the air almost of their own accord. He could sense the shock and terror, almost taste it, metallic and sharp, but for a moment he was unsure if it was hers or his or something of the two mingled together, growing heavier with every passing silent moment. He forced breath into his lungs and his eyes caught a glimmer of silver on the floor at his feet. The book that had hit the wall was crumpled there, many of its pages scattered about the floor. With smooth, careful motions, he bent to retrieve the book, pressing the pages that he could back into place and closing the cover as best he was able. It was enough time to gather himself, enough time to form words, to arrange his features into a customary smirk.

He turned his face to her, allowing just the corner of the smirk to show.

"And I suppose you think you know of monsters, don't you?" he said, with a soft sort of chill.

She dropped her eyes, but not out of fear, not this time. It was something else, something she was hiding, something she had been hiding from him for a very long time now, always just on the edge of his vision when he caught a glimpse of her, just beneath her voice when she spoke. It lurked, waiting, _hoping_...

"I'm not certain what I know of monsters, my lord," she said, "But I think, if one were in fact a monster, one would not need to proclaim it so insistently and often."

He jerked back, startled. That was... clever. She often surprised him with these little gems, he supposed he should be used to it by now, but...

_...what use are you, to yourself or anyone else, if you are dead?_

"If there is nothing else, my lord, it is very late."

She had regained herself. Her eyes were fixed on that imaginary place all servants knew, the place that lay just beyond any noble's shoulder. He stared at her and he knew that she could feel it, but she did not acknowledge it, did not flinch away or meet his eyes. She had retreated to that deep, familiar place inside herself where he could not reach her, no matter how he tried. He sighed and resisted the urge to massage the bridge of his nose. He felt the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes.

"Yes," he said, sounding far more weary than he had intended, "Yes it is. Go then. I won't keep you."

She curtsied, a short bob that somehow still held some hint of the respect that carried her, and made her way back down the prison corridors with long strides. Loki watched her go, past the hissing Badoon, past the grunting Rock Trolls, up the stairs and out of sight. Then he replaced his illusion, the doppelganger reading in his chair, surrounded by a thick sense of foreboding for good measure, and stretched out on the settee, the wolf blanket crumpled underneath him. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling for a long time... wondering...

_...I don't think you're a monster..._

"...idiot." he murmured, but even in his own ears, the word lacked conviction.

* * *

The next day, Andvari and his battalion departed for Vanaheim. Klara did not see them off. Lady Frigga sent her a message, informing her that she was exempt from her morning duties, allowing her time to say her farewells. Klara ignored the message, dressed as usual, and reported to the queen's sitting room. The major cleaning here had already been done, but Klara busied herself rearranging the pillows on the couches and checking the bowls of fruit, rotating what was needed.

"Oh!"

Klara glanced up and then down again. Lady Frigga was standing in the doorway to her office, a stack of parchment spread between her hands.

"Oh Klara, my dear girl," the queen said with a startled laugh, "I wasn't expecting you until much later. Have the soldiers departed so quickly?"

Klara strengthened her resolve and kept her face neutral.

"I do not know, my lady," she said, carefully lifting and inspecting each of the furry, purple oblongs in the nearest fruit bowl, letting them roll over her fingers before she replaced them. The softness against her skin was soothing in the long pause that followed.

"I see."

The tone of Lady Frigga's voice told Klara that the queen did, in fact, see and very well. Klara picked up another fruit and rolled it in her hands, dropping her head just a fraction so that her long hair covered the side of her face. The bruise was nearly non-existent now, but she could still feel it burning like a brand on her skin.

"Well," Lady Frigga said, "I'm very glad to see you back, Klara, I've had quite a time keeping things in order without you. I hope you know how invaluable you are to me."

A smile touched the corner of Klara's lips, but her hair hid the expression. She knew very well that Lady Frigga was more than capable of running her own household. She no more needed Klara than a pot needs a kettle. But still, Klara appreciated the sentiment.

"Thank you, my lady."

There was another pause.

"Well," the queen said again, "I have a few things to see to. I'll be in my office, if you could please be sure that I'm not disturbed."

Klara straightened from the bowl of now perfectly arranged fruit and nodded.

"Yes, my lady."

The queen's eyes found the parchment in her hand again and she strode away. Klara let out a breath of relief. Andvari was gone, and the queen was satisfied. That was two of Klara's three biggest problems dealt with. All that was left, was Elli.

Klara had been avoiding the old woman for days, ignoring the knocks on her door and responding to her messages with excuses concerning her feigned illness. It soon became clear that Elli had not been fooled for even a single instant.

Once Klara had fulfilled her duties to the queen, she headed back to her room, intent on a bit of reading and a long nap. Elli was waiting by her door, sinewy arms crossed, a scowl on her lined face. Even her long silver braid looked stern. Klara bit her lip, but then forced a bright smile as she approached.

"Hello, Elli," she said pleasantly.

"Don't you 'Hello, Elli' me!" the older woman snapped and Klara's shoulders sagged, "Let me in this instant! Don't dawdle about it!"

Klara suppressed a sigh and opened her door, allowing Elli to storm inside before shutting it firmly behind her.

"You've been avoiding me," Elli said without any hint of preamble, "You've nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

Klara froze, panic flickering through her chest, her hand gripping reflexively on the doorknob to keep it from flying to her face where the invisible bruise still stung her skin. Elli didn't know. She _couldn't..._

"It's all the fault of that... that... brazen hussy!"

The complete unexpectedness of this outburst effectively thawed Klara enough to turn and stare at the older woman. Elli had started pacing Klara's tiny room, her arms no longer crossed but swinging freely, gesturing to the air as Klara continued to stare at her, now more confused than panicked. What in all the realms...?

"Everyone knew!" Elli said, "No honor in it, no respect! Stealing a man from another woman like that, awful thing, ought to be ashamed of herself...!"

"Who?" Klara asked, unable to repress her curiosity any longer.

" _Fulla_ , of course!" Elli shouted, "The no good tramp who slipped her claws into Andvari like a weasel. I knew I didn't like her, knew from the moment I laid eyes on her..."

Elli continued to rant about the many vices and faults of Fulla, but it was all just a buzzing in Klara's ears. She somehow managed to make her way to the bed and sink down on to it. Fulla... and Andvari... Her cheek stung still and she rubbed at it absently, the remnants of the bruise bringing a cleansing ache that helped free her mind. Elli was still rambling.

"How dare she presume to believe that she is worthy of even one hair on his head? Stealing another's betrothed right out from under her..."

"We were never betrothed, Elli," Klara said with a calm resignation that she knew would go unheeded.

"It was practically official!" Elli insisted, "There were only a few formalities! I just don't understand what went wrong! You are perfectly respectable, you hold a valued position in the queen's court..."

_...all the palace whispers of it... traitor's whore..._

A shudder crawled up Klara's spine. The diamond pendant hidden beneath her tunic felt like an unbearable weight on her neck. She straightened. She had not been bought. She _had not..._

"We just weren't compatible, Elli," Klara said decisively, "Andvari and I had different dreams, that's all. It's nothing to get worked up about."

Elli jerked to a sudden halt and stared at her. Then her eyes narrowed.

"What happened?"

Klara swallowed, but she did not relax her expression.

"We had a disagreement," Klara said, "As a result, we decided it would be best if we didn't see one another anymore."

"A disagreement?" Elli said, her eyes sharp.

Klara pressed her lips into a thin line and refused to let them open. She did not have to tell Elli everything, after all. After several moments of tense silence, Elli seemed to realize that there would be no more forthcoming. She sighed, running a hand over her now weary face.

"Well, now what are you to do?" she said, sounding tired and slightly desperate, "I had such hopes..."

Klara's shoulders lowered, only a fraction, and she could feel that weight tugging on her neck again, trying to drag her down into some hopeless abyss that she might never crawl out of. What _was_ she to do now? She hadn't considered it, but Andvari really had been her very last hope. She had no other prospects, none that appealed to her at any rate. She wasn't even certain now if _Andvari_ had ever appealed to her. He had just sort of... materialized, insinuated himself into her life somehow, and in the absence of any better options she had simply allowed it. No other man had ever shown the slightest interest in her and, to be frank, Klara found most of the men within her accepted circles to be insufferable bores. The mere thought of attempting to work her way through another relationship with one of them was exhausting.

"Would it be so bad if I just..." Klara hesitated, "If I chose _not_ to marry?"

Elli had been pacing again, twisting her hands together, her brow furrowed as if the situation were a puzzle to be solved, but at this she stopped and narrowed her eyes at Klara.

"What in all the realms are you talking about?" she asked sharply.

Klara dropped her gaze to her hands nestled in her lap and shrugged.

"As you said, I have a valued position in the queen's household," she said softly, hesitantly, "I am well provided for. Perhaps... Perhaps I am just not meant to wed."

There was a long pause. Then Elli sighed, a long, sad sound.

"Oh my dear, sweet girl..."

She lowered herself onto the bed beside Klara, her back as stiff and straight as ever. Klara instinctively sat up a bit straighter to match her. Then, to Klara's surprise, Elli reached out a hand and brushed her golden curls, running her thin fingers through them gently.

"You were meant for so much more than this," Elli said, her voice now soft and distant, "Worthy of so much more than you know, _worth_ so much more. Do not let others steal that away, don't let them convince you that you are unworthy of happiness, that you are not meant to be loved. Sweet child... you were _born_ to be loved."

Klara jerked and turned to stare at Elli. Something about the way she'd said those words, something about the tone of her voice...

A flicker of panic passed over Elli's face and then vanished. She dropped her hand and stood abruptly, straightening her gray servants' tunic with a stiff tug.

"Well, I have things still to see to," she said, "I'll check on you in a few days' time and we'll discuss your options further."

And then she left, before Klara could utter a single word of protest. Klara stared at the door that had shut behind her, feeling a blank sort of shock that filled her whole body with a numb sensation of static.

Born. She had said... _born..._

Elli knew.

Elli... Elli _knew..._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Wow, this is a really short chapter! Sorry about that guys, but I promise stuff is about to get really good :) Enjoy this small reprieve while you can :)

For the next few days, Klara performed her duties in something of a daze. The last moments of Elli's visit played over and over in her mind, while she worked, while she waited on the queen, while she strode about the palace. Even Fulla's smug smiles of satisfaction as they passed one another in the corridors were little more than a buzzing annoyance. Klara could not bring herself to regret or mourn Andvari's loss in any way, not when her face still stung at the very thought of him. As far as she was concerned, Fulla was welcome to him. And it certainly wasn't half as important as the words that haunted her thoughts, echoing in the back of her mind.

_...you were meant for so much more... worth so much more... you were born to be loved..._

_"_ Are you even listening?"

Klara blinked and refocused her eyes. Loki was staring at her from his chair, one of his books still held aloft in his hand, a smirk touching his lips, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Klara straightened instinctively.

"Of course, my lord."

"Good, then it shouldn't be any trouble," Loki said, turning back to his book and carelessly flipping a page.

Klara's breath stuck in her throat. For several seconds she remained frozen to the spot, wracking her brain to think what it was he had asked her to do in the few moments she had drifted off. Loki turned back to her, watched her face for a moment, and suddenly his grin widened.

"I knew you weren't listening," he said, snapping his book shut and sweeping to his feet, striding up to the golden barrier and bending down to better look her in the eye, "I could see the cogs in your mind turning, and they certainly weren't turning on the intricacies of Dwarven poetry."

Klara felt a rush of relief simultaneous with a stab of irritation. He had been reading aloud from his book, she remembered that, Nidavellier poetry of forges and fire and the ringing sound of hammer on steel. It had been then that she drifted off, floating away on the crest of his voice echoing on the stones, her thoughts turned to the matter that was most pressing on her mind. He had not asked her anything at all. His eyes glinted mischievously as she glared at him.

"Tell me," he said, straightening, "What has your mind so far away this evening?"

She clenched her jaw and met his eyes stubbornly. This was, of course, no business of his and besides she was angry at him now. She refused to reward him for his trickery. Not to mention that the last time she had trusted him with this...

_...Abjurate..._

The word still echoed somewhere in her thoughts, mingled with all the other useless words somehow still holding power in her mind. It was a name. Which was more than she had ever had. And some part of her subconscious still clung to it like one clings to a piece of driftwood when lost at sea. He had given her a name.

"I think..."

She hesitated. Loki did not move, only watched her with that piercing gaze that made her almost believe he could see straight through her if he wished.

"I think... the woman who raised me, Elli... I think she knows."

Loki quirked his head to the side.

"Knows what?"

Klara hesitated again. All she had were snippets, feelings, instincts, nothing substantial, nothing concrete, no way to really know...

"I'm... not sure," she answered, "It's just a feeling. I think she knows more about me, about where I come from, than she has led me to believe."

Klara saw a muscle in Loki's jaw clench, and she realized what this must sound like, especially to him. The fallen prince of Asgard. The son that had never been. The man that had been a secret all his life, hidden in plain sight. And no one had ever told him... no one had ever said...

They stared at one another for several moments. Finally, Loki turned away, pacing to the back of his cell, his hands clenching and unclenching behind him. When he turned to face her again, his face was impassive once more.

"Have you confronted her?"

Klara swallowed.

"No," she answered, sounding far more steady than she felt, "I don't have any proof. It's only a feeling, something she said to me..."

Klara trailed off, the words echoing in her mind.

_...you were born to be loved..._

"Do you want to know?"

Klara blinked and stared at him. There was no trace of his customary smirk now, only his burning eyes set in his most serious expression.

"Yes."

The word slipped from her mouth before she had properly thought it through. But it was the truth. Whatever it was, whatever this feeling that was building in her chest, she wanted to know.

"You might not like what you find," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"It has to be better than this," she said, "This... deafening silence. Everyone has something, a story tucked away in that place where their history should be. I have nothing."

"You have yourself," he said, taking an intense step forward, "You have who you are at this very moment. You have all the things that have come before, the things in your living memory, these are the things that created you. Once you learn the truth, you can never unlearn it. Once you choose this path, you can never turn back."

"Would you?"

He pulled back, almost startled. Klara did not.

"If you could," she insisted, "If you could go back and unlearn all that you have learned, who you are, _what_ you are...?"

"A monster..." Loki hissed, his lip curling.

"A _prince_ ," Klara snapped.

His lips pressed together in a thin line. He was not quite glaring but Klara knew she tread on dangerous ground.

"Perhaps the man who raised you did not father you, but you were always a prince, always meant to rule. You have that now, that certainty, and there is no one that can take it from you. I have nothing."

"Do you suppose yourself a princess in disguise, then?" Loki sneered.

Klara's shoulders sagged and she brought a hand to her face before she remembered herself and clasped them behind her again.

"No," she said wearily, "No, of course not. But I don't know _what_ I am, and that is the point. If Elli knows anything, _anything_ that can fill that void, I want to know. No matter the cost."

Loki stared at her for several long moments.

"Very well," he said finally, a slight smirk twitching his lips, "Then we will begin."

* * *

Klara spent the next several weeks making time for Elli. She and the older woman had rarely spent much time in each other's company since Klara had grown old enough for her own position in the palace service. They crossed paths on occasion in their various duties, but were usually far too busy for more than a nod in passing. It was a difficult habit to break, this unintentional avoidance, especially in a way that would not cause Elli to question her motives. Klara used the only thing she had, the only thing she knew was important enough to make Elli spend any significant amount of time with her.

"Are you sure about Daven?" the older woman asked as they sat nursing a pair of ale mugs in the tavern, "He's always been so kind to you..."

"No, Elli," Klara said with a firm, but kind fondness, "I told you, he is Andvari's friend."

Still Klara turned to follow Elli's gaze across the room. It was not terribly crowded tonight, only a few knots of friends gathered around the tables. She could see Daven's sandy blonde head just peeking out from a group of Einherjar soldiers. He laughed and it carried across the room. It was true, Daven had always been kind to her. But the truth was, Klara didn't feel she had the heart for it. Daven was too good to be saddled with someone who couldn't wholly devote herself to him. Absently, Klara ran a finger along the line of silver that peeked out at the neck of her tunic.

_...it suits you... I knew that it would..._

_"Everyone_ is Andvari's friend," Elli muttered sourly, taking a gulp from her mug.

Klara smiled and dropped her hands back to her cup.

"Not everyone, Elli," she said, gently, "I have you, don't I?"

"Hm," Elli huffed, still deep in her mug. She drained it and set it back on the table with a decisive thump, "Well, I'm off. Duties tomorrow and I'm not doing you any favors taking up space with you."

Klara felt a surge in her chest and she nearly rose, reaching out toward the older woman.

"Oh, won't you stay?" she asked, trying to sound casual and cheery, "Have another with me, I feel as if we haven't spoken in ages."

Elli stopped and narrowed her eyes. A lump rose to Klara's throat, but she forced her face to remain calm, innocent.

"We've seen more of one another these past two months than all of last year put together," Elli said, "Is everything alright, Klara?"

Klara straightened instinctively, her back rigid and her hands clasping reflexively around her half-full mug. She had said too much, tried too hard.

"Yes," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt, meeting those eyes that had always seen right through her and forcing a smile, "Yes, of course. I suppose I'm just lonely is all."

For a moment, she thought Elli might question her further. But instead the old woman's face softened and, to Klara's surprise, she reached down and covered Klara's hand with her own.

"You would tell me, wouldn't you child?" she said in a gentle but firm tone, her eyes still sharp in her gentle expression, "If there were anything more on your mind?"

Klara swallowed, but met those eyes steadily.

"Of course, Elli," she said, still smiling, "You know I would."

Elli nodded, then with a pat of her hand, took her leave, her back still straight as a curtain rod as she left the tavern. Klara finally let her shoulders sag, leaning back into her chair with a sigh of relief. A shout of laughter across the room made her jump. But it was only Daven, the sound still echoing on the stones. Klara's mouth twitched in a half-smile and she picked up her mug, swirling the contents half-heartedly. Then she set it back down again and slipped quietly from the tavern.

* * *

"I think she might suspect something."

"Then you must pull back."

Loki turned another page of his book and did not even look up at her. Klara stood stiffly outside his cell and tried to fight down the panic she could feel trying to block her throat.

"If I do that..." she began desperately, but Loki cut her off.

"If you push her too quickly, she will only hold things more closely to her, protective instinct," he said, eyes scanning the pages, "When we feel cornered we hold on to what we have. _Patience_..." He finally glanced up and smirked, his eyes sparkling, "You need patience in abundance with these sort of delicate situations."

"Because you are a model of patience, my lord," Klara said with only a hint of sarcasm.

Loki spread his arms, waving his book flippantly in the air.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Something about the way he said that made a shiver crawl up Klara's spine, but she straightened a bit to hide it. Loki turned back to his book, and flipped another page.

"Give her space, let her feel at ease for a while. Give yourself time to think. Then we will approach the problem again from a fresh angle."

So, though it frustrated her to no end, she did as Lord Loki suggested and left Elli alone. For two weeks she still spoke to her in the halls, waved to her in the corridors, but there were no meetings in the tavern, no messages passed by holodesks, and Klara began to believe that perhaps she _had_ been approaching Elli in the wrong way, that perhaps what she needed was a new perspective, a fresh angle, as Loki had said.

And then the soldiers came home.


	17. Chapter 17

Klara had no warning, no way to know. She had evening service with Lady Frigga and she'd hoped to get in a quick word with Loki before her duties began, to make certain he did not lack paper, or require new books. He was nearly due for some new reading material, the books currently in his cell he'd had for nearly three months and Klara knew he was a quick reader. He had taken to reciting sonnets from some Midgardian playwright of late, a 'William Shakespeare'. Most of it was nearly incomprehensible to her, but somehow the phrases still resonated in her chest, leaving behind vague impressions long after the words had faded. Sometimes he would glance up and smirk at particular lines, but this was only to get a rise out of her and so she ignored it.

_...for thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings... that then I scorn to change my state with kings..._

When she reached the dungeon, the door was open. She paused. She looked about her. There were no guards in sight. And then there were shouts, echoing up the stone stairwell and Klara's heart leapt to her throat.

_Loki..._

She flew through the open door without thought, pausing at the foot of the stairs only long enough to realize she had made a terrible error. The soldiers were corralling a rowdy bunch of creatures, dirty and torn, into a long line of cells along the far wall. The Rock Trolls were hooting and slamming themselves into their cell walls, the Badoon screeched and banged their fists against the golden barriers. The soldiers were having a time keeping the newest group of ragtag troublemakers under control, but they were doing a rather admirable job under the watchful eye of Daven and his guard. Klara allowed her eyes to stray and saw Loki, stretched on his settee, flipping through a book with no apparent interest in the barely contained chaos that threatened just beyond. The glamour that was a constant fog around his cell was thin, barely more than a mist over Klara's eyes. He did not even glance up as the ruffians were moved into cells ever closer to his own.

Klara nearly went to him, but after a moment thought better of it. Instead she backed into the shadows, waiting until the last of the new prisoners were safely wrestled into a cell and sealed within the golden barriers. The fools threw themselves against their imprisonments, making the walls shimmer and buzz, but to no effect.

"Go ahead, make all the racket you want!" a cold, familiar voice shouted, "It makes no difference now!"

Klara stared at the soldier, watching with dread as he removed his helmet and shook his dark, sweat-soaked hair from his face.

Andvari.

Klara had to resist the urge to touch her face as the place where he had struck her tingled and burned. It had been weeks, but suddenly it felt as fresh as yesterday. He turned, as if he could feel her eyes on him, and the look of hard triumph on his face faded into a steely glare. She wanted to wilt under that glare, to slink away to some dark corner. But what darker corner was there than the place where she stood right now? In a single breath, the chill damp of the dungeon filled her chest and cooled the burning shame that had begun to glow there. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep them from straying unnecessarily and her spine straightened reflexively with the motion. This place, the dungeons, this cool, dark sanctuary was hers, _hers_ and no one else's. Above, she was merely a servant, but down here? Here, she was a goddess.

"Klara!"

Daven's cheerful voice broke her gaze from Andvari's. The guard approached, his helmet under his arm and his smile broad.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, his tone less condemning than pleased.

"The door was open," Klara said, "I heard a commotion."

"It's dangerous, you shouldn't have come," Daven said, but he was still smiling.

"I have a duty, Master Daven."

"A duty that could have waited," he insisted, shaking his head, "Oh well, it's done now and I suppose you're safe enough. On your way."

He bowed to her slightly and tromped up the stairs, several guards and soldiers following after him, clapping one another on the shoulders and generally seeming in good spirits. Klara held her head high and walked out amongst them, keeping her eyes focused on the corridor in front of her, hoping against hope...

A hand grabbed her elbow and brought her to a stumbling halt. Before she could think to conceal it she glowered at the soldier that had dared...

Andvari held her fast, matching her glare with a furious fire. But instead of wilting, Klara felt the dungeon's chill seep into her bones and fill her veins. She straightened beneath his gaze and met his eyes coolly, keeping her hands clasped behind her to prevent them from shaking. Andvari's jaw clenched.

"I see you have not repented your ways in my absence," he hissed, "I had thought with a bit of time and some... persuasion..."

Klara narrowed her eyes.

"You will unhand me, sir," she bit out in a cold, clear voice that carried and echoed against the stones, "Or I shall call someone to remove you."

Andvari's eyes widened for only a fraction of an instant and then narrowed again, but he released her arm. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, some parting jab no doubt, but Klara did not wait to hear it. She turned on her heel and marched away, focusing once more on the stones in front of her. She could feel his gaze following, could feel it burning on the back of her neck as she forced herself to take step after hurried step down a corridor that felt as if it were lengthening before her, like she might never reach the end. But she did, finally, reach her destination, though she now felt as if she were on fire from the heat of the glare she could still feel on her skin. A spot high on her cheek burned hottest of all.

It took a moment for her to regain her focus. When she did, she realized that, though she stood before his cell, Loki was not looking at her. He was sitting up, his book still clutched in his hand, glaring back the way she had come. Klara did not dare follow his gaze, afraid of what she would see.

"My lord, I have come to... to ask..."

Loki swept to his feet, his eyes never leaving the spot that had fixed his attention. He paced closer to the golden wall, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his jaw clenched.

"Lord Loki," she said, in a voice that was softer and far more pleading than she had intended, "Please..."

He blinked, and then turned to stare at her, an angry sort of confusion on his face. Klara straightened her shoulders and swallowed, trying to hide how much the encounter with Andvari had shaken her, how much she wanted to pretend that it had not happened. Loki's head tilted to the side and some of the anger left his expression. He turned to face her properly and bowed to her more deeply than he had ever done.

"I apologize, Mistress Klara," he said with deliberate politeness, in a voice that carried far more than Klara though it should have, "I'm afraid my mind has... wandered. Please, what were you saying?"

Klara allowed her shoulders to settle a bit, letting the familiar surroundings fill her up and chase away the anxiety that still rattled in her chest. The door to the dungeon shut with a resounding thud. She did not turn toward it. And she pointedly ignored the touch of a smirk on Loki's face.

More prisoners poured steadily through the Bifrost all that day and well into the next. They were the Marauders of Vanaheim, the last of the conflicts that had raged across the Nine Realms since the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge. The last of the threats to Asgard and her rule. The last...

Klara knew this should be a joyous occasion. The taverns at least were alight with merriment, as she was obliged to observe at Lord Volstagg's insistent invitation. Klara took comfort in only two things. The first, that Lord Thor seemed no more merry than she, sharing only a smile and a quiet corner of the table with her as Lord Volstagg told his rousing tales. The second, that the place was much too noisy and she far too surrounded by important persons for Andvari to do much more than glare at her from over his mug across the room. It was unsettling, but more bearable than it might have been. And as the children squealed with laughter and delight over one of Volstagg's more fantastic stories, Klara managed to slip away unnoticed and shut herself away in her room for the night.

The next morning, whispers and rumors floated through the corridors. At first, Klara dismissed them, snatches of conversation caught in passing or hurried whispers muttered in her ear as she went by. Of course the Bifrost had been opened, it was open at all hours it seemed these days, bringing more and more of the horrid marauders to be stuffed down in the dungeons. Klara had not yet dared to venture back down there since that first day, the steady flow of new prisoners and the heightened possibility of yet another unpleasant run-in with Andvari keeping her at bay. And the rest of the whispers she heard were just preposterous, rumors of a Midgardian in Asgard, of Prince Thor held captive, of Odin All-Father's rage. She had too many duties to see to, she didn't have time to listen to such frivolous nonsense.

A message on her holodesk had greeted her that morning, stating that the new books for Lord Loki had been located and were ready for her to pick up at her earliest convenience, but she was due for early morning service to Lady Frigga, and so she used this as an excuse to put off returning to the dungeons for just a short while longer. And that was when she heard the whispers that she couldn't dismiss.

She had been attempting to completely ignore Fulla for several weeks now, and so far she had been doing what she considered an admirable job. Not once had she been successfully provoked to anger with the girl, despite the sneers and snide remarks often spoken just within her hearing. Elli's training had made it easy to maintain a cool, proud demeanor. But the words that fell from Fulla's lips just as Klara entered the queen's chambers that morning were almost enough to break her resolve.

"...shouldn't bother, really. She'll be dead in a fraction of his lifetime, no matter what he tries. It's not as if they'll ever be equals. It's almost as bad as the traitor wishing to be a prince, when he was really just a monster all along."

Klara froze in the doorway. Her blood ran cold, and then shot through her veins like molten metal. She clenched her fists and forced slow, steady breaths in and out of her lungs. Fulla was leaning against the wall of the sitting room, examining her long, red claws while Lin stood pressed into a corner looking vaguely uncomfortable. The Vanir girl tried to shuffle around Fulla, but the other woman shifted slightly and blocked her way.

"Honestly," Fulla said, rolling her eyes, "If we all tossed everything aside each time some Midgardian wench was in danger of dying, the realms would be in chaos! What Lord Thor sees in her, I shall never know. If you ask me, the only member of this family that hasn't gone mad or soft is the All-Father! Even the _queen_ , I mean, what could she _possibly_ see in Klara but a traitor's..."

Fulla trailed off. She had finally glanced up from her nails and spotted Klara, still standing in the archway, her hands clenched behind her back now to hide that she was shaking with rage. But rather than look embarrassed or even surprised, Fulla's pouty red lips curled into a feral smile.

"Oh," she said, her voice dripping with disdain, "It's you, Klara. Come to take your shift?"

Without waiting for an answer, Fulla swept past Klara into the hall, not even bothering with a glance in her direction. Klara stood very still where she was for several moments, waiting for the red mist to clear from her vision. When she finally managed to blink it away, she saw that Lin was still standing in her corner, shuffling uncomfortably, her eyes darting from Klara's face to the floor and back. When she saw that Klara was focused on her, her eyes dropped back to the floor and she curtsied low.

"Was there anything else, Mistress Klara?" she asked in a soft, demure voice.

Klara took a moment to regain her nerves. She was not angry at Lin. She could not let any part of that enter her voice. When she was certain it was safe, only then did she speak.

"No, Lin," she said, nodding politely, "You may go."

Lin nodded and scurried away, not once glancing up as she scuttled past. Klara stood another few moments in the doorway, but found that much of her anger had dissipated. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. If Fulla was already speaking so disdainfully, then the rumors must be true. Jane Foster, the Midgardian scientist that had taken pity on Lord Thor during his exile to that realm, the one that some said he had fallen in love with, must really be in Asgard. Klara wondered at the circumstances that might have caused Lord Thor to bring the girl _here_ of all places.

_She'll be dead in a fraction of his lifetime..._

Klara set herself to her duties to keep Fulla's hateful words at bay, arranging pillows and opening curtains. Suddenly the door to Lady Frigga's study opened and the queen stepped out. Klara paused in the act of reaching for a throw pillow and curtsied.

"My lady."

Her tone was demure and calm, but inside she was a flutter of mixed feelings. How much had the queen heard? Did she know yet about the Midgardian girl? Was there cause for concern?

The queen looked up and stared at Klara for a moment, as if startled by her presence.

"Oh," she said, clearly trying to recover herself, "Klara, my dear, just who I'd hoped to see. Have Loki's new books been located?"

Klara dropped her eyes and clasped her hands more firmly behind her, feeling a twinge of guilt for having put the task off even for a moment.

"Yes, my lady."

The queen nodded, but her eyes seemed very far away, her hands twisting together before her.

"Good," she murmured, almost to herself, "That's good. See to it, would you, child?"

"Of course, my lady."

The queen nodded again, her hands still twisting before her absently. She turned and started to walk out of the room, but as she passed by Klara she paused, stopping so suddenly that Klara feared something might be wrong. Lady Frigga stared at her for a long time, an inexplicable expression on her face. Then, to Klara's immense surprise, the queen reached out and gently cupped her face in her hand.

"You are very dear to me, Klara. I hope you know that."

Klara stared at the All-Mother with what she imagined to be the most exquisite imitation of a startled animal. The queen smiled softly and brushed her thumb at the skin beneath Klara's eye.

"Sometimes," she said, in a fond tone that sounded as if it came from somewhere far away, "There is something... something in your eyes... and you remind me _very_ much of..."

Her voice trailed off and Klara held her breath, her heart fluttering in her chest. But then the queen blinked and dropped her hand, her smile widening.

"But it doesn't matter," she said airily, "The point is I know this past year has been difficult for you, Klara, but I honestly don't know what I would have done without you. Not just your services, but your spirit. I..."

The queen paused again, and then dropped her eyes with a chuckle.

"Listen to me, I've gone perfectly sentimental," she said, while Klara continued to stare, "The last few days... Forgive me, I keep you from your duties and there are things I must see to as well. But when things have settled a bit, I would very much like for us to talk. It seems it has been a long while since we sat and really spoke to one another."

"Of... of course, my lady, whatever you wish," Klara stuttered, still staring, her heart in her throat.

Lady Frigga nodded, once again looking distracted, her eyes wandering to the windows, then to the door. She touched Klara's elbow in an almost absent gesture, and then she vanished as quickly as she had appeared, swirling into the corridor with a swish of blue silk and silver. Klara stared at the empty doorway, her heart still hammering in her chest.

_...you remind me very much of..._

Did... Did Lady Frigga know something too? Or did she merely guess, some fluttering of suspicion she had pushed away until this moment of distraction had allowed it to slip into her speech? Klara had never seen her quite so distraught before. She must know of Jane Foster. And of whatever ailed the girl.

_She'll be dead in a fraction of his lifetime..._

Klara felt a hot fury as Fulla's words echoed once more in her mind's ear, burning away the ringing at the queen's strange words. She did not know Jane Foster. But she suddenly felt a deep sympathy for the girl, a girl she might never meet or speak to, to be plucked from her home and brought to this place of strangers who cared no more for her than they would an insect.

All but Lord Thor. Perhaps that was enough.

Klara left the queen's quarters and, after gathering the books from the library, made her way to the dungeons. She glanced through a few of the volumes as she made her way through the corridors, trying to ignore the whispers still floating all around her. A book of advanced mathematics, a history of the fire demons of Muspelheim (what little there was), and a volume of Vanaheim poetry, a copy of the same book that graced Klara's own bedside table. A small smile twitched the corners of her lips before she could suppress it, and she absently brushed the chain of cool silver at her collarbone. This had been a personal choice and she confessed, if only to herself, it pleased her to think that the words might bring the prince some bit of the happiness and comfort they had so often brought to her.

When she finally reached the dungeon doors only Daven stood guard, his helmet under his arm, a glowing tablet in his hand. He looked up and smiled at her approach.

"Your timing today is much more desirable than the last time we met, Mistress Klara," he said, gesturing toward the door, "You've only just missed the last of the miscreants finding their new homes in the dark bowels below."

Klara felt a knot of anxiety loosen between her shoulder blades and she settled more comfortably into her posture.

"I am glad to hear it, Master Daven," she said, a bit of her relief seeping into her tone, "If I may present these for inspection?"

Daven gave the books a cursory glance and handed them back to her.

"All in order as usual," he said cheerfully, waving his hand at the lock panel, "Be especially vigilant, Mistress Klara, even the long-term residents are restless."

"I will remember it," Klara said as the door clicked open, "Thank you, Master Daven."

He nodded and Klara descended into the dark. He was right. The prisoners were restless. One of the Rock Trolls even threw himself against the cell wall as she passed, something that had not happened for so long Klara nearly jumped. The marauders were the worst of course, shouting course comments and tossing rude gestures in the periphery of her vision. She deftly ignored them. It was easier the farther into the dungeon she progressed. There were far more marauders than there had been of any other prisoners and they soon blurred together into a long line of faceless nothings, stretched nearly the entire length of the prison corridor, even beyond Loki's cell.

The prince was lying on his bed, the wolf blanket tossed haphazardly over the foot, flipping a small cup into the air, over and over. Klara waited several moments, watching him without the smallest shred of acknowledgment, before she finally realized what the matter was.

"Your mother's been to see you," she said, dropping into her customary curtsy, "I apologize. I'll come back..."

"Don't."

Klara paused in the act of rising, her stomach clenched, her jaw tightened. Did he mean...?

Loki sighed and swept to his feet, pacing his cell and rolling the cup between his hands agitatedly.

"Just... How does it fare with your guardian? Any progress?"

Klara felt the knot in her abdomen loosen and she straightened.

"None to report. She's..."

There was a sudden commotion in one of the cells further down the corridor, the inmates all shouting and banging on the barrier with loud sizzling crashes. Involuntarily, Klara turned toward the noise...

...and a flash of brilliant fire filled the cell, nearly blinding her. She cringed and shielded her eyes against the glare as a wave of heat hit her squarely in the chest and stole her breath from her.

"I think you'd better step inside."

Loki's voice was so calm and steady that Klara felt her eyes drawn almost irresistibly toward him, blinking spots from her vision. He was standing very straight, his expression impassive, his hands clasped behind him. But his eyes were fixed on the smoking prison cell with a chill intensity that sent a shiver crawling up Klara's spine. She swallowed.

"What do you...?"

There was another crash, this one louder and filled with the buzzing sound of failing power. A shrill, piercing alarm echoed against the stones and she heard shouts from the far end of the corridor.

" _Now_ , Klara."

This time Klara did not hesitate. She took two steps, books slipping unheeded from her fingers, and pressed both hands to the glowing wall. It was still falling around her as the prince's cool, smooth hands grabbed hers out of the empty air and pulled her through. She heard shouts, and then screams, as the barrier snapped into place behind her, but Loki was still moving, tugging her deeper into the cell, and she followed blindly until finally she was shoved down into the space behind his writing desk. He knelt, searching her face, tendrils of blue around his collar slowly fading away.

"Are you alright?" he asked, in a strange monotone Klara had never heard before. His voice was always so expressive, always saying more than his words would allow.

"I..."

There was another crash and she jumped. Loki's eyes flitted toward the sound and his lip curled.

"Stay here," he said, still in that expressionless voice, "Do not move or speak, no matter what you see or hear. Do you understand?"

Klara's throat was closed. She could hear shouts echoing through the dungeon, cackles and whoops of ill-intent that bounced off the stones. She nodded mutely.

Loki swept to his feet and strode to the center of the white room, his fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders rigid. He stood there for a long moment, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he took several deep, slow breaths. Then, almost faster than Klara could follow, his hands came together in a loud crack, and shot straight out to either side. A surge of green light flew from his fingers and hit the cell walls, mingling with the shimmering gold and swirling outward until there was no part of the transparent barrier left untouched. Klara stared, knowing that what she was seeing was not at all what others outside the cell would see. She was seeing magic. After a moment of stiff silence, a misty green outline slowly pulled away from Loki's physical form, and his doppelganger paced toward the wall, hands clasped calmly behind his back, examining the green and gold shimmer with apparent interest.

There was another loud crash and Klara jumped, gripping the leg of the desk in her fright. Loki shuddered and the green fire flowing from his fingertips wavered. Klara held her breath. But the moment passed and the magic resumed its steady course. The doppelganger turned and when she met its eyes, it smirked and placed one long, shimmering green finger to its nearly transparent lips. Klara swallowed and remained perfectly still.

She could see faint outlines through the green and gold, rapid movement followed by the shrieks and whoops of prisoners. She could hear the Einherjar shouting orders and she thought once that she heard Daven's voice somewhere in the melee, but she remained perfectly still and watched. The doppelganger was pacing now, slowly, gracefully, watching the scurrying forms scuttle past him with a hint of derision.

And then the largest form that Klara had ever seen strode into view, approaching the barrier of Loki's cell. The doppelganger paused, head tilted curiously to the side. The two stared at one another through the barrier of green and gold and Klara wondered what it was the creature saw. If this... _thing_ was releasing prisoners, would he choose to release Loki as well? What would become of her then? Could he even see her here, cowering beneath the desk? Magic could not touch her. Was the enchantment on the walls enough to conceal her from the creature's eyes? Was that what Loki's intention had been? To... to protect her?

The creature hesitated. The tips of Loki's fingers began to tremble. Klara held her breath.

And then abruptly, it turned away, striding with purpose down the corridor. Loki's shoulders released the tension that had been straining them and, true to his very nature, the doppelganger threw one last parting remark, the smirk in his voice plain even to Klara's garbled hearing.

"You might want to take the stairs to the left."

The doppelganger watched for several moments, eyes fixed further down the corridor. And then he faded out of sight, along with the green glow that had been swirling along the walls. Slowly, as if the movement pained him, Loki lowered his arms to his sides, but Klara dared not move. The prisoners still scrambled about outside and the Einherjar had finally entered the dungeon in earnest, trying to corral and subdue the frenzied inmates. She realized with a sudden jolt... if she had been left out there, even had she tried to make a run for the stairwell, she would never have reached it in time. She would very likely be dead.

She stared at Loki, who had not yet moved from his place in the center of the room, his shoulders rising and falling. She wanted to get up, to make sure that he was alright, but she wasn't certain if it was yet safe for her to move. She bit her lip and waited anxiously for him to speak.

It was another few moments, but finally he did.

"You..." he said, his voice still slightly breathless, "...make everything... _infinitely_ more difficult... did you know that?"

He finally turned to look at her, his customary smirk fixed firmly on his lips, though his shoulders still heaved with the effort to catch his breath. Klara swallowed.

"I did," she said, "I'm sorry."

Loki rolled his eyes and dropped to the floor, making Klara start and leap to her feet, but he was only retrieving a book, flipping it over and thumbing through the pages, as if searching for his last read passage.

"Might as well get comfortable," he said, flinging himself onto the ledge of his cell just as one of the marauders was flung into the other side with a sizzling crash that made Klara flinch, though Loki seemed not to notice, "Where were we in the Dwarven poetry when last we spoke? I haven't seen you in several days."

Klara stared at him, now well past awe and into bafflement. There was a _war_ going on just outside, and he wanted to talk about Dwarven poetry? She could still hear the rattle of metal on metal and the shouts of the fighting, could see it through the golden lattice that shimmered all around her in the bright white light.

"Ah, here we are!" he exclaimed with a delighted tone, "The golden mines at the center of the world."

He glanced up and, realizing that she was still standing, gestured at the lounge chair before him impatiently.

"Sit," he said, "I might be a prisoner, but I'm not an animal. I know my manners. Sit."

Feeling a sort of distant numbness, Klara sank into the chair, her legs trembling beneath her. In fact her whole body was trembling. Something hit the barrier again and she jerked, flinching away. Loki watched her intently for a moment.

"Close your eyes."

Klara jerked her eyes back to him, suddenly frightened. But he met her gaze openly and inclined his head politely, his voice soft and almost gentle.

"Close your eyes, Klara."

Klara felt them closing almost of their own accord, the lids drooping as his voice softly brushed over her. For a moment the fighting seemed even more intense, enhanced by the loss of her sight...

...but then his words flowed over her, words of gold and strength and hidden beauty unearthed through gentle care, and the fighting seemed to float away on the sound of his voice, until it was all she could hear, and she knew again her own special brand of magic, the magic of his voice, of his words, that had nothing to do with magic at all.

She leaned back and let it take her away from the madness she was in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sources:**
> 
> The line quoted in this chapter is from [Shakespeare's Sonnet XXIX.](http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/29)


	18. Chapter 18

…and then it was quiet. The last echoes of Loki's voice faded away and in its place she heard far away voices, vaguely familiar, and they brought her slowly and gently back to the present.

"How did they get out?" Lord Fandral asked.

"Perhaps they can tell us," That was Lord Thor's voice, "Round them up, one to a cell and…"

He paused, his words trailing off.

"…Klara?"

Her eyes flew open and on instinct she shot to her feet, back rigid, hands clasped behind her, as if she had been caught idle at a task. There were several still forms outlined beyond the golden barrier, Lord Thor, Lord Fandral, and Lord Volstagg among them, all appearing to be in varying degrees of shock. Lord Thor was the first to come to his senses. His eyes narrowed and, brandishing his hammer, he stormed over, his furious gaze now fixed on Loki, who watched his brother's approach from his seat against the golden barrier with a calm, cool demeanor.

"Loki, you will release her or so help me...!"

"I'm not a prisoner!" Klara exclaimed, rushing forward a few paces before she remembered herself and stepped back, hands clasped behind her again, "...my lord. Please, he's done me no harm."

Thor stared at her openly again, and now Loki turned to stare too, only his expression was much more guarded. He tilted his head curiously to the side, the hint of a furrow on his brow. Klara swallowed and tried to ignore him.

"He's bewitched her!" Lord Volstagg shouted, waving his axe threateningly, "He's done something to her mind!"

Loki barked a laugh and turned vicious eyes on the larger man.

"Fortunately, that is quite out of the question," he said, "Don't you even know who you're...?"

"He hasn't tricked me," Klara said, speaking over him before he could say anything more, "I can assure you, my lords, I am quite in my right mind."

"Then come out of there, Mistress Klara," Lord Thor said, in a tone that simply bled of suspicion, holding his hand out toward the barrier, toward her, "Come down and we'll get you someplace safe."

"Oh yes, because you've done such a fine job keeping her safe thus far," Loki snapped, his eyes flashing.

"Safer than she is with you, murderous wretch!" Lord Fandral spit, his hand on his sword hilt.

"So sure about that, are you?" Loki hissed, rising to his feet, his book forgotten on the sill, "Do you even know what your own nasty, _cowardly_ little soldier has..."

"Loki."

Even Klara was surprised by the sharpness of her tone as his name left her lips. Loki's mouth snapped shut, though his eyes still burned fiercely at each lord in turn. Klara moved forward, ready to do as Lord Thor had asked and come down, if only to make them all stop staring...

There was a rumble from above and a thin layer of dust floated down from the ceiling. Everyone looked up.

"Sire!"

Klara's eyes jerked toward the shout, her blood turning to ice. Andvari was running down the corridor and stopped just short of Loki's cell. She heard Loki growl beside her and, without thinking, placed a hand on his arm. She could feel him trembling through his jacket, but he held himself steady.

"We are under attack!" Andvari said, breathlessly, "Dark creatures, I've... I've never seen anything like them!"

Once again Lord Thor's eyes turned to Loki and he took another menacing step toward the cell. Klara's grip on Loki's trembling arm tightened.

"What have you done?"

"Read mostly," Loki quipped, his calm, cool voice dripping with venom, "Nidavellier poetry lately, a few Midgardian sonnets, though I'm told I'll be moving on to some Vanir works soon."

Thor's lip curled and he took another step. Another explosion rocked the dungeon and Loki glanced up.

"You might want to look into that," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. But there was something else too, something in his expression, a tension around his mouth. He glanced down at Klara and she could see it plainly, swimming in his eyes, hints of doubt and fear. And she heard his voice in her mind, clear in the echoing quiet.

_You might want to take the stairs to the left..._

… _the stairs to the left…_

Klara sucked in a breath.

"Frigga..." she whispered.

Loki said nothing, only stared at her with those wide eyes in an expressionless face. Klara turned back to Lord Thor, who first looked confused, then openly terrified. They exchanged only a fleeting glance, and then he was running, Klara following after, her hand slamming into the golden barrier only seconds before she launched herself through it, before it was even properly down. She hit the stones of the corridor at a sprint, Lord Thor already racing into the stairwell.

Someone snatched at her arm.

"Klara, what are you...?"

She spun, grabbing a knife from Lord Fandral's belt, and swung outward, slicing cleanly across Andvari's smooth, pale cheek. A thin line of red began to ooze from the wound as he stared at her. She brandished the knife at him, her eyes and her voice as hard as the steel in her hand.

"Touch me again and I'll kill you."

She whirled and raced down the corridor, up the stairs, the words Loki had spoken still echoing over and over in her head.

_You might want to take the stairs to the left... the stairs to the left... to the left..._

She left the dungeon stairwell and took a sharp left.

Toward the royal quarters.

Her feet flew along the marble corridor, weaving in and out of columns and debris along an all too familiar path, but she was no match for Lord Thor's speed. She heard him shout, a hoarse cry of fury, the crack and sizzle of power, the smell of ozone burning. She sped past the broken doors of the royal wing, racing down the long, dark corridor toward the main sitting room, her heart in her throat.

_No... No, please..._

She burst into the sunlit chamber and slid to a stop among the broken shards of doors. Lord Thor stood on the balcony, still shouting at the empty sky. Odin All-Father was kneeling on the floor, no expression on his haggard face. And Lady Frigga... All-Mother...

Klara sank to her knees amidst the broken wood, too horror-struck even for tears.

* * *

The damage was catastrophic. Or so Klara was told. She heard these words with no comprehension. Her mind had been blissfully dulled by the work thrust upon her in the last few hours. There was to be no waiting. The bodies of those lost to the Dark Elves' attack were to be sent to the stars that night, and as the head of the Queen's household, it fell to Klara to prepare Lady Frigga for the journey. In many ways it was like preparing the queen for the Midwinter feast. Clothes were laid out, some of her favorite things chosen to make the journey with her, it was all very routine. Klara sank gratefully into that sweet oblivion of habit and order. When there was nothing left to be done, she donned her own mourning garb and it was only then, as she absently placed the diamond pendant beneath the bodice of her black dress, that she had a single moment, a blinding flash of present thought.

_Loki..._

The prince was all alone in the dungeons. She could vividly see the look on his face, the touch of fear and doubt. The pendant was a lead weight around her neck. He would blame himself. She knew this the way she knew what books he liked, or what foods he preferred. Had anyone even told him that his mother was...

The rest of the All-Mother's household had gathered in the corridors, preparing to go down to the sea, but Klara slipped past them, taking swift familiar steps deeper into the palace. At the end of the procession someone caught her arm, crimson claws digging into flesh.

"Where are you going?" Fulla hissed.

Klara met the woman's eyes and wrenched her arm from her grip.

"I've forgotten something," she said with a touch of chill, "Something important. Lady Frigga would want it done."

Fulla opened her garish red lips as if to reply, but the procession was moving and Klara turned her back on her, hurrying in the opposite direction.

Her feet made soft swishes of sound as she walked through the deserted hallways, but she could barely hear over the pounding of her heart against her ribs. Had someone told Loki what had happened? Some small part of her hoped that they hadn't, hoped that perhaps she could deliver it to him, maybe soften the blow somehow. Would she be able to say the words? She had not yet been able to even think them.

_Lady Frigga... is..._

There was no guard standing watch. Everyone was at the seaside, waiting to send their loved ones and comrades into the stars. The access panel glowed red and tentatively Klara placed her hand against it. Rather than turning green as it did for Daven, the panel stuttered and then went out. She tried the door handle. It turned easily beneath her hand and she slipped inside.

The dungeon was eerily quiet. The inmates were asleep. Or rather, passed out, some in precariously awkward positions. The Einherjar had obviously thought it best to sedate them and Klara was grateful for it. She did not think her nerves could have stood up to the usual taunts and jeers.

When she first saw him, she thought perhaps the guards had drugged him too. He was very still, unnaturally so. But then she caught a glimpse of movement, a shadow in the bright white lights, and she knew that his doppelganger prowled. There were other things too, other shadows in the room, but she barely noticed these. All she saw was Loki, leaned against the back wall, feet bare, clothes rumpled, hair disheveled and the dead blank look of a man with no thought or purpose. Klara's heart cracked. She had come too late.

Without hesitation she placed her hand against the golden barrier and slipped inside the cell. The shadows all around him vanished, but he gave no other indication that he was aware of her presence. She took a step and something crunched. She looked down. Shards of glass littered the floor, mixed with splinters of furniture, bits of parchment, and splatters of black and red. It took a long moment for Klara to realize that the deep red streaks were blood. Loki's foot was bleeding from a long deep cut.

"Oh Loki..." she whispered, little more than a breath of air. He made no move, just stared blankly forward, his eyes glazed.

The wolf blanket had been shredded and Klara took a moment to gather up a few of the longer strips, then she found a bowl that had somehow managed to remain mostly intact. She approached the back wall of the cell with some trepidation. There was a means for prisoners to access water from one of the hidden panels within the wall, but she herself had never tried it. She wasn't even sure how it was powered, if it would even work for her. She placed her fingers on the farthest edge of the bowl and pressed it to the correct panel. A cool stream of water flowed out and filled the basin. There was a thin crack that leaked water through her fingers, but it would have to do.

She knelt by the prince's feet and dipped one of the smaller pieces of blanket into the water. He still gave no indication that he was aware of her. Tentatively, Klara pressed the damp cloth to the bleeding gash, which finally prompted a response, a hiss and a jerk, but Klara placed a soothing hand on his leg as she dipped the cloth back into the bowl.

"Hush, dearest, let me tend it," she murmured absently.

After a long pause, she felt his tension loosen and she returned to her task, cleaning the wound, checking for shards of glass or wood splinters, then wrapping it tightly in one of the longer blanket strips. When she was done she sat back and looked up.

Loki was staring at her, almost as if he had never seen her before. Klara dropped her eyes, and then settled herself against the back wall, knees up, arms wrapped around the flowing black of her dress, several inches between his shoulder and hers. They sat for several moments in silence.

"Why?"

Loki's voice was rough and cracked, as if he had been screaming for hours, but his tone was dull, limp. It was so unlike him that it took Klara several moments to find her own voice to answer.

"Because she loved you," she said, "And she wouldn't want you to be alone."

The barest hint of his smirk touched his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall.

"And always you do the bidding of Lady Frigga," he said with the barest hint of bitterness.

"I do my own bidding now."

Her words struck so hard that it took the breath from her. She gasped and her eyes felt like they were burning from the inside out.

"What are we to do?" she whispered, in a voice so small and lost that she hoped very much Loki had not heard her.

He shifted slightly and Klara shied away, not daring to look at him. He stopped.

"What indeed?" he said finally, but the tone was soft, gentle, without any hint of spite.

Klara relaxed under its softness, letting her eyes fall closed and her cheek rest on her knees. She could almost feel Loki breathing beside her and her own breaths began to mimic his. In... and out... in... out...

A soft boom echoed above them. They both looked up. It was not the explosive force of an attack or the falling of stone. It was the sound of magic, far older and more powerful than either of them, echoing with finality.

Lady Frigga was gone.

* * *

Klara did not know how long she sat curled on the floor beside the prince. Time lost meaning in the bright lights and glowing gold of the cell. They did not speak, only sat in one another's company. Klara's mind felt blissfully blank. She focused only on taking breath in and then letting it out again. She might have dozed, she wasn't certain. Loki's breathing never seemed to change. He did not move. He sat as still as ever, his eyes shut, his head leaned back against the wall. Klara caught her eyes roving over him occasionally, her cheek pressed to the top of her knee. She had rarely been so close to him. His face was pale now, paler than before, and the halo of powerful glamour that was a constant shimmer over him wavered and swam before her tired eyes.

"They will be looking for you soon."

Klara jerked upright at the sound of his voice. She had nearly thought he was asleep. But his eyes were open now and looking at her with that expressionless, empty gaze.

"We wouldn't want anyone to think I had 'bewitched your mind' or kidnapped you or whatever rubbish they might concoct."

He said the words with a sneer of contempt and a touch of his familiar smirk.

"No one will look for me," Klara said softly, pressing her cheek to her knee again, "My duty is to you. Do you wish me to leave?"

He stared at her for an interminably long moment, his expression unreadable. Klara did not flinch from his gaze. It vaguely occurred to her that this was perhaps the longest the two of them had held each other's eyes in the entire year they had known one another. His eyes seemed bottomless and unfathomable and made her feel dizzy, as if she were falling.

"I am not your keeper," he said finally, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall once more, "Do as you like."

It was not a dismissal. Klara shifted so her chin rested on her knees and she spotted the book of sonnets by that strange Midgardian playwright, face down and pages askew, only a few paces from her. Slowly she unfurled herself and reached out, barely managing to hook the spine of the book with her fingertips and slide it toward her. With care and consideration, she smoothed the pages back into place, her eyes flitting curiously over the lines that seemed to beat out a steady rhythm in time with her own heartbeat.

"No longer mourn for me when I am dead..."

She sensed Loki tense beside her and she paused, but when he said nothing, she read on.

_"...Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell_

_Give warning to the world that I am fled_

_From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:_

_Nay, if you read this line, remember not_

_The hand that writ it, for I..."_

Her voice cracked and she stopped, her eyes burning again.

_"...for I love you so."_

Loki's own voice was barely more than a whisper, floating on the still air.

_"That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,_

_If thinking on me then should make you woe..."_

There was a long silence, the words ringing in the cell and in Klara's ears. She blinked and the burning in her eyes slowly receded. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Loki snorted and the sound startled Klara so much that she jumped. She turned to stare at him, but he had not moved, had not even opened his eyes.

"Sentiment," he said softly, with a hint of derision, "Midgardians are always going on so. As if it will make the slightest bit of difference..."

He trailed off. Klara stared down at the book in her lap, the words leaping off the page and swimming before her eyes. A line from the page opposite swam into focus.

_...That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect..._

"They could have killed you, you know."

The words slipped from her tongue before she could stop them. She looked up. Loki's eyes were open and he was watching her with a carefully guarded expression.

"The Midgardians," she said, "It would have been well within their rights to kill you for your crimes."

He stared at her for another moment, then leaned his head back and shut his eyes again, almost deliberately.

"Yes... well... weakness in your enemies, you know."

"I don't think it was weakness."

"Then you are more naïve than I thought," he quipped, his eyes snapping open to stare at her again, burning now with some hidden fire.

Klara dropped her eyes, ran her fingers over the words on the page below.

_...If some suspect of ill masked not thy show,_

_Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe..._

"I'm glad they didn't," she whispered.

There was a long pause. Klara started to close the book.

"Perhaps..."

She paused. Loki's voice had lost its ire and his eyes were closed again, his head leaned back, his face smooth, as if the fight had seeped out of him.

"Perhaps you could find another..." he said, "The words... are more than silence anyway."

Klara looked down at the book in her hand, and then slowly flipped a few pages further in.

_"So are you to my thoughts as food to life_

_Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;_

_And for the peace of you I hold such strife_

_As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found..."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sources:**  
>  The sonnets of Shakespeare quoted in this chapter are (in order of appearance): [LXXI (71)](http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/71), [LXX (70)](http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/70), [LXXV (75)](http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/75)
> 
> **A/N:** Also, since we are so close to the end (and I don't want to leave you guys hanging over the weekend, because I'm nice like that ;P), I will be posting chapter nineteen tomorrow, and chapter 20 (plus epilogue!) on Friday! Again, I can't thank you guys enough for the support this fic has received, you guys have been so lovely! Until tomorrow! :D


	19. Chapter 19

Klara paged through the remainder of the sonnets and had just begun a recitation of something called "Venus and Adonis" when the dungeon door opened with a thud. Klara's eyes jerked up from the pages of the book. Loki sat up beside her, surprisingly alert. Had it not been for his occasional correction of her pronunciation, she might have thought him to be asleep, so still and quiet he had been, but now he looked as if he had not been resting at all. His gaze darted about the walls of the cell, then he settled his shoulders, folded his hands together, and shut his eyes in a posture of repose, his head now resting on his chest.

"You might want to be very still, Mistress Klara," he murmured.

Klara swallowed and lowered the book gently into her lap. Loki took a long, deep breath and, as Klara watched with wide-eyed amazement, the walls around them began to glow, the same green swirls of magic reappearing in the golden depths. She could see shadows of furniture, all in their proper places, shimmering like reflections on the walls and the green shimmer of Loki's doppelganger reappeared in the center of the room, calm, composed, hands clasped firmly behind him as he paced the front of his cell, his appearance impeccable. The figure turned and shot a wink over his shoulder at Klara. She could only stare at it, so thin and insubstantial, so very much _less_ than the Loki that sat beside her, his brow furrowed in concentration under his dark, unkempt hair. She wondered that anyone could be fooled by such a thing.

There was movement along the corridor and the doppelganger turned toward it, watching the approaching figure with a contemptuous set to his shoulders. It was not until he was nearly level with the imitation that Klara could finally see his face through the haze on the walls. Lord Thor. Klara saw Loki stiffen and his face shone with a thin sheen of sweat.

"Thor," the shadow-Loki said, with a bite so chilling that even Klara could hear it through the muddled voice, "After all this time, now you come to visit me. Why? Have you come to gloat? To mock?"

"Loki, enough."

Lord Thor's voice was calm and steady, with no hint of anger or contempt. He sounded almost weary.

"No more illusions."

There was a moment's hesitation. The double did not move for a long moment. Klara risked a glance back. Loki's eyes were open. He was looking at her. It took her a moment to understand his hesitation. A small smile pulled on her lips.

"It's alright, Loki," she whispered, "It's alright."

Then slowly, she reached out and touched his shoulder. She felt the magic flee from her touch, the illusion shifting and crumbling around them. Loki sighed and laid his head back on the wall, as if relieved of an unimaginable weight. Klara turned and saw Lord Thor staring at her, wide-eyed. Klara inclined her head to him politely.

"So," Loki said, his eyes open once more, "Now you see me, brother."

Lord Thor stepped cautiously around the edge of the cell, his eyes flitting between Loki and Klara, as if unsure how to proceed. Loki followed his brother's eyes and smirked, waving a hand.

"My only companion in my grief," he said, "Would you begrudge me the comfort?"

"I fear only for Mistress Klara's well-being," Lord Thor said, his eyes fixed on Klara now, "This is not a safe place."

"As safe as any other," Loki snarled, "Or do you too believe her mind has been turned against her?"

"I believe Mistress Klara has the will to do as she pleases," Lord Thor said with a confidence that made Klara's chest swell a bit, "It is where that will takes her that concerns me."

"Where my will takes me is my own concern, my lord," she said, her hand still firmly on Loki's shoulder, "I go where I feel I am needed."

Lord Thor inclined his head to her.

"I do not doubt it. But I would speak to my brother alone, if I may?"

Klara glanced at Loki. He met her eyes briefly, then inclined his head. Klara got to her feet more gingerly than she had anticipated. She must have sat for hours here. She wondered briefly if the Lady Frigga had wondered about... And then she remembered. The shock nearly choked her. She managed to cross to the nearest golden wall and press her hand to the light. In a flash, it disappeared and Lord Thor held out his hand to her politely. She took it and allowed him to help her down to the stone floor of the dungeon. She turned and caught Loki staring at her, his eyes narrowed. It unsettled her a bit and she shook out her black skirts as an excuse to drop her eyes before she dropped into her customary curtsy.

"My lords," she murmured.

With a last, lingering glance at Loki, she turned and strode away. She could feel his eyes following her all the way to the stairwell. She paused and glanced back. She could still see him, his head lifted to follow her. She shivered. Then she made her way up the stairwell.

The light of the corridors above seemed to wake her from a dreamlike trance. She could feel her back straighten, her stride lengthen, taking her along well-traveled passageways that were familiar even under the threat of invasion. She was still the head of Lady Frigga's household. And that household needed her now, more than ever. There was still much to be done.

But in the back of her mind, an image lingered. Loki, on the floor of his cell, bleeding and alone... and the way he looked at her...

_...for the peace of you I hold such strife..._

...and she could not shake the feeling of his eyes burning into her, as if he might never see her again...

* * *

She had been right to return to Lady Frigga's chambers. She entered to find Lin attempting to clear away the bowls of fruit from the end tables, only to burst into fresh tears as one brightly colored sphere escaped her grasp and rolled gently across the floor to stop at Klara's feet. Fulla was nowhere to be found. She scooped up the fruit and helped Lin empty the rest into a nearby bag that was destined for the kitchens, then left her to wipe down the tables, still sniffling but otherwise calmed. She found Fulla in the Lady Frigga's inner chambers, admiring one of the queen's fine gowns...

...held against her own voluptuous figure.

The rage Klara felt was indescribable. Her skin was icy cold and her eyes felt like they were burning in her sockets. Fulla, admiring herself in a mirror, turned just so and spotted Klara in the doorway, ashen-faced and rigid. She smiled poisonously.

"Ah, there you are!" she said, turning back to her own reflection with barely an acknowledgment of Klara, "Where did you run off to? Not that anyone really noticed you were missing, I made sure to take your place at the ceremony, of course."

She was still swirling the gown around her ankles, running her crimson clawed fingers over the lovely gray fabric. Klara bunched her fists at her side. She was trembling.

"I was just thinking that we should probably pack these things away," Fulla said, "They'll only be taking up space, and it's really not good to leave them hanging out like this. I mean..."

She paused, then met Klara's eye in the mirror again, her lips set in a vicious smirk.

"... _anyone_ could just come in and take something. No one would even know it was missing anymore."

Klara's breath caught in her throat. Her vision was blurring. She felt like she was going to be sick. Her stomach was rolling with red-hot bile. Before she could speak, she turned and fled the room, snatching the now full bag of fruit from Lin's hands, leaving the girl gaping and wide-eyed.

"Do _not_ let her leave," Klara hissed, jabbing a finger in the direction of the queen's chambers, "Do you understand?"

Lin stared dumbly, but nodded and Klara marched out of the royal quarters and along the corridors, the canvas bag swinging haphazardly by its strings.

She was going to get a guard, tell them any story, do _something_ but she couldn't just stand there and let that... that _thing_ touch the queen's clothes! Her skin felt so hot she thought it might start peeling off. She was so furious in fact that she nearly didn't notice the two figures striding through the nearly deserted plaza. She might not have noticed them at all if a flicker of green light had not caught her eye and made her pull up short, staring. The bag of fruit slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.

She was going mad. She had to be.

Loki and Lord Thor were striding, side by side, past the marble columns. Lord Thor glanced about him and Klara ducked behind a nearby pillar, pressing her back to the cool marble and closing her eyes, willing herself to breathe, to _think._ Lord Thor would never free Loki. Not for any reason. She must be mistaken. She took another deep breath, and peeked around the pillar again.

They were closer now. There was no denying it. There was a gleam of shadow over Lord Thor now, and Klara thought she caught the vaguest hint of long, dark curls around his shoulders, but it was most certainly Loki striding beside him, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. She was going mad. Or Lord Thor had gone mad. Perhaps his grief had caused him to lose his mind? Klara had heard of such things, but...

She heard a noise and jerked back behind her pillar, peering around the other side. Two Einherjar were making their way through the plaza, set to intercept the princes at any moment. Klara glanced back. Loki was glowing bright green now, making some sort of display, his brother watching him with a marginally disgusted air. Neither had noticed the Einherjar.

Klara acted without thinking. She sprang out from behind the pillar and ran directly into the Einherjar's line of sight.

"Help!" she shouted, "Someone help!"

The Einherjar heard her cry and came running. Klara did not dare to even glance in the direction of Lord Thor and Loki.

"Klara, what is it, what's happened?"

Klara felt a sharp pang of guilt at the sound of Daven's voice under the Einherjar helmet. But she held her poise and pointed back the way she had come.

"There's someone looting the queen's chamber!" she exclaimed with all the raging fury she had felt at Fulla's disgusting display, "I didn't know what to do, please...!"

Both guards took off at a run without even a glance behind them. Klara watched them go, hands on her hips, a feeling of bitter satisfaction in her gut when she thought of the nasty surprise waiting for Fulla.

Only when the guards were well out of sight did she dare turn back to search for the subjects of her diversion. She didn't see them. She took a few steps in the general direction she had last seen, and then called softly.

"It's... it's alright. They're gone now."

There was a pause. And then Lord Thor emerged from a pillar not far off, followed by Loki now in shackles. Lord Thor's eyes darted everywhere, wary and alert, but seeing no immediate danger he fixed his gaze on her and inclined his head.

"I owe you a debt, Mistress Klara," he said, "And if all goes well, the realms will owe you a debt as well. Thank you."

Klara dipped a curtsy. She could feel Loki's eyes following her, burning into her. She didn't meet them, afraid of what she might find there.

"If I might ask..." she began, but Lord Thor shook his head before she could finish.

"It is best that you know as little as possible of this business," he said, "I had hoped to keep you out of it entirely, but as ever the Norns weave a tangled web. What little you have done could label you a traitor to the realm if it goes badly for us."

Klara bit her lip. A traitor? Her eyes flicked involuntarily to Loki. He was staring at her, the tiniest glimmer of a smirk on his lips, his eyes on fire as they raked over her. She stood a little straighter and held herself a bit more primly, but that only widened his smirk. She tore her gaze from him.

"You should go now," Lord Thor said, his eyes flicking over the plaza again nervously, "It wouldn't be safe to be seen in our company, and those who join us..."

" _You!_ "

All three of them turned toward the exclamation. Lady Sif was striding down the corridor, escorting a petite young woman whom Klara had never seen before, though she was dressed in a courtly frock of flowing silver gray. The girl was pointing, mouth agape, at Loki. Klara flicked her eyes to him. He seemed... pleased by the recognition. He inclined his head to the girl as she approached, mouth still agape, finger still pointing, clearly in shock.

"You're..." the girl stuttered.

"Loki," he said, inclining his head, "You may have heard of me..."

The girl drew back her hand and cracked Loki so hard across the face that the sound reverberated in the empty halls. Klara covered her mouth to stifle a cry and took three hurried steps toward him before she remembered herself, pulling up short.

"That was for New York," the girl snapped, glaring as Loki straightened himself and smiled down at her toothily.

Then to Klara's complete surprise, he turned to his brother and nodded his head at the girl.

"I like her."

Thor glared at him, but Loki barely noticed. He was absently rubbing his cheek and his eyes strayed again to Klara. She suddenly realized her hand was still over her mouth and she dropped it, clasping both hands behind her and endeavoring to replace her servants' countenance. It felt as if Loki's eyes were burning her image in his mind. She swallowed.

"Were you followed?" Lord Thor asked Lady Sif, as he took the arm of the girl and pulled her closer to him.

And that was when Klara realized who it was. This... _this_ was the Midgardian. This was Jane Foster, the woman that so much had been sacrificed for. And Klara could not help but stare. Even for a Midgardian, the girl seemed small, but her face held strength and determination. She was still glaring in Loki's direction even as Lord Thor endeavored to separate them.

"No, my lord, but they will soon be aware that she is missing," Lady Sif answered, glancing anxiously over her shoulder, "We should..."

"I wonder if I might have a moment."

Everybody turned toward the sound of Loki's voice, even Klara. He was still staring at her, his face a very careful neutral. Klara swallowed and attempted to remain perfectly still and impassive, though her heart was thudding in her chest. Lord Thor's eyes flickered between them for a moment, undecided. When the prince did not answer, Loki finally turned his eyes on him, narrowed and irritated.

"Oh, _really_ ," he huffed, rolling his eyes exasperatedly, "I'm not going to harm her, what good would it serve me? She's saved my life more times than I could count."

It took everything within Klara not to jerk with surprise. Saved his life? How? When?

"Besides," he lifted his shackled hands and rattled the metal a bit at Lord Thor's eye level, "What am I going do with these?"

The prince still hesitated and Lady Sif appeared to be trying to attract his attention, shaking her head vehemently. But instead Lord Thor turned to Klara, plainly inquiring what _she_ would like to do. She dropped her eyes from his out of habit, clenching her fists to keep from trembling. Then after a moment, she nodded.

"Very well," Lord Thor answered, stepping back, "But only a moment."

Lady Sif appeared outraged and little Jane Foster looked very puzzled, but Lord Thor pulled them both away, speaking in low, hushed voices, his eyes darting around the now deserted hallways.

Loki's eyes were unwaveringly fixed on Klara again. He smirked slightly and took two long steps toward her, so close that she could feel the magic tingling in the air around him. She dropped her eyes, unsure what it was she was expected to... But he bent his head lower until finally Klara was forced to meet his gaze. His smirk had transformed into a smile.

"Mistress Klara," he said softly.

Klara's shoulders sagged a bit, but she managed to conceal the weakness by dropping a small curtsy.

"My lord Loki."

For a moment they only stood there, looking at each other, both thinking but neither speaking. Klara could still see the impression of the Midgardian girl's hand glowing on Loki's skin and she reached out to touch it, but hesitated at the last moment. If she touched him it would break his enchantment and he would look... That would not help his companions find trust in him. Whatever this was, Lord Thor was putting his trust in Loki, and Klara did not wish to spoil it by reminding him that his brother was... other than what he appeared.

She started to lower her hand and Loki snatched it out of the air with both of his, holding it tightly. The chill on her skin gave her a jolt and she tried to tug it back, but he held her where she was, his eyes fastened to her with an intensity that burned like icy flames. She could see the spell that held his form dissolving before her very eyes, spreading through his fingers and snaking up his arms. She tried again to pull away, to no avail.

"Loki, they will see!" she hissed, frightened for him now, more than she had ever been.

But he only grinned, one thumb tracing icy circles on the back of her hand.

"I don't care."

Klara stopped struggling. She watched the blue wind its way up his neck, wisps of it touching his jawline. With her free hand, she reached out and brushed at the place where the blue shimmered, and it spread from her touch. And he didn't care.

Before she could properly register what was happening, Loki cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

The skin of his lips was cool and soft, and when he exhaled in something that might have been a sigh, his breath had a chilled, tingly touch like mint on her tongue. She sighed too and pressed forward, drinking in that soft, cool taste, the press of his hands on her jaw, the brush of his fingers along her collarbone, raising goosebumps anywhere skin touched skin. He kissed her until she was breathless, and when they parted a puff of mist rose into the air as they exhaled.

And for the very first time, Klara really _saw_ him, not just a shadow of who he was, who his father had hoped he would be. She touched the raised lines that crossed his azure face, tracing the gentle ridges with her fingertips. Loki leaned into the touch rather than away, and his eyes fell closed, but Klara didn't want that. She wanted to _see_. She cupped his jaw, lifting his face to her, and his eyes opened. Brilliant red in that dark blue, expressive and bright, they followed her own eyes as she looked at him. She smiled.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

A return smile brushed Loki's lips and he leaned gently into her palm...

A throat cleared.

They turned, Klara in surprise, Loki with an irritated glare. Lord Thor had appeared once more at their sides, Lady Sif frowning behind him and little Jane staring, open-mouthed. The prince looked very much as if he were trying to show no emotion at all.

"It's time," he said solemnly.

Klara and Loki looked again at one another. He was still scowling, as if offended that time would impose on him in such a way. It made Klara grin and she smoothed her thumb along the crease in his brow.

"You must come home."

The words fell from her mouth without thought, but she did not try to take them back. Loki's expression blanked for a moment, but she held his face in her hand firmly and insistently.

"When this is over," she said, "When you have done what you must, you _must_ come home, Loki. Promise me."

Loki's dark crimson eyes searched her face and he even opened his mouth as if to protest. But then he closed it again and his shoulders sagged. He cupped her face in his hands once more and for a moment Klara thought he might kiss her again. But instead he closed his eyes and pressed his brow to hers. She could taste his cool, tingling breath on the air between them.

_"The fetters will burst, and the wolf run free_

_Much do I know, and more can see..."_

His eyes opened again and he whispered, "I swear to you, when all is done, I will return to Asgard."

He spoke so deliberately that Klara might have suspected a trick, but she didn't have time to try to interpret his words because Lord Thor was insisting now and soon he was out of her grasp, walking away down the empty corridor, the shadow of his form returning in stronger force the further he went, until he glanced back at her one last time and she could no longer see the color of his eyes. He smirked once before he turned the corner, and was gone.

* * *

Daven found her several hours later. She was cleaning up the mess Fulla had made in her outrage at being detained. Klara heard Daven's words when he spoke, understood their meaning, nodded in all the correct places, and so he left her to continue her work. She finished smoothing the dress in her hands and packed it carefully with the others, shut the closet doors, and locked the Lady Frigga's personal chambers as she left them behind. It was not until she was well out of the royal wing, on her way back to her own room, that she felt anything. She stumbled as the delayed force of the words hit her in the chest, catching herself on one of the cracked marble pillars.

_...thought you ought to know... Allfather has made it clear... everything has been arranged... all the Nine Realms..._

_...selfless sacrifice..._

_...died with honor..._

She slid to the floor, the words playing over and over in her head. She couldn't breathe. She was gasping, trying to suck in air, but there didn't seem to be enough in all the Nine Realms to fill the gaping hole in her chest. Her eyes, her limbs, her whole body was burning, a prickling, icy fire and she could still hear his voice, smooth and soft, whispering in her ear, the only lie he ever told her.

_...when all is done... I will return..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Commence screaming ;P And remember, there is still ONE MORE CHAPTER! And I promise you, it's a doozy, you're gonna wanna stick around for it ;)


	20. Chapter 20

Time lost its meaning. Klara saw her life only in flashes, brief moments of lucidity followed by immeasurable periods of haze. There were things that should be seen to, but she could not think what they might be or who might care about them anymore. She wandered the palace, not much caring where her feet took her, often finding herself in places that she could not remember having gone to or why: the kitchens, the gardens, the queen's atrium. She even once found herself staring at the closed doors to the throne room with no memory of how or why she was there. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered much.

So when she woke from one of these dazes to find herself staring through golden light into a dimly lit white cell, she was not all that surprised. The furniture still lay in broken disarray, scattered books with ripped pages, dark stains smeared over the floor. But with no occupant to complain and no caretaker to see to it, she supposed that was to be expected. And she had the sudden understanding that this was one of her duties. This was something she should see to.

She pressed her hand to the golden barrier and it fell away beneath her touch. She stepped into the cell and it closed with a sizzling snap behind her. Her feet crunched on broken glass as she crossed the room. She would need a broom for this. Later. She stooped to retrieve one of the books, smoothing the pages back into place and reading the gilt title: Pythagoras. She scooped up another book close by: Mulspelheim. Another: Dimensional shift theory. She continued to gather the books into her arms, smoothing their pages as best she could, shuffling the loose leaves for sorting later. She reached the back corner and set her stack next to a larger one, then bent for the next book closest to her.

Shakespeare.

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings..._

There was a loud smack and Klara jumped. The book had slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. She stared at it for a moment, a dull feeling of perplexity nudging the back of her thoughts, but she turned away and instead began gathering up the larger bits of furniture, shoving them into one corner, table legs, a chair back. Her hand brushed the smooth wood of the bed frame.

_My current bedding arrangement... It's unacceptable... You will oversee the transfer yourself, of course..._

She jerked her hand back and clutched it to her chest as if it had been burned. She swallowed and stared at the torn bedding, shredded remnants of the white wolf on the black backdrop staring back at her.

_Hush, dearest... let me tend it..._

Her trembling fingers brushed the fabric, tangling it into her fist, wrapping it around her arms. She did not remember sitting. She did not remember lying down. But when she closed her eyes she could smell leather and ink and the faintest hint of something cool like mint. She sighed. And for the first time in too many days, she slept.

* * *

For a while she drifted somewhere between sleeping and waking. She did not move. Occasionally she opened her eyes and tried to remember where she was. Then she remembered that she did not care and closed her eyes again. No one was looking for her. No one would miss her. She was alone now.

On one of these occasions, she opened her eyes and saw a form beyond the golden barrier looking back at her. Elli. She was standing with her back straight, her hands clasped, her worn face as unreadable as ever. Klara closed her eyes again. She was safe here. Within these walls, she could escape from judgement, from ridicule, from everything.

"You know, I think Odin All-Father might have half a mind to keep you here."

Klara did not flinch. Elli's voice was close, closer than it should have been, but she did not care. She did not open her eyes.

"He knows you helped them," Elli said, "Daven would never corroborate it, but the other... well, as you said, Andvari has many friends."

Klara did flinch then, the name scraping on her ears like claws. She turned her face away, burrowing it into the pillow, breathing through her nose, letting the cool scent fill her lungs.

"The king is none too pleased, no matter how it might have saved the Nine Realms."

_...all the Nine Realms... selfless sacrifice..._

Klara took another deep breath through her nose.

There was a long pause. Then Elli sighed and Klara felt the mattress beside her sink beneath a weight. A hand began to card gently through her tangled curls.

"Have I ever told you about my service to the queen's sister?"

Klara did not acknowledge this. She had not even known the queen had a sister. It seemed to matter very little now.

"No," Elli said with another sigh, "I suppose not. I always meant to tell you, of course, but... You had so much before you and I was always afraid..."

Klara had never in her life known Elli to fear anything. Elli was unmovable, an unshakeable force. Elli was everything she had left.

"Lady Freyja was the eldest, by only a few minutes," Elli murmured, her hand still carding absently through Klara's hair, "Though you might never have known it. So alike, and yet so very different they were. She was beautiful, in her own way, quiet and subtle. She might have been well-loved, had she allowed it, but she was always so distant from the world, so alone in her thoughts, and so easy to overlook in her little sister's shadow. Even I, who was closest to her, did not know her so well as I thought."

Elli paused, her voice cracking only the tiniest bit, but it was enough to open Klara's eyes, to bring her back to the surface of her thoughts, to take in the words that were falling over her like soft silk. Why was Elli telling her this? Why did it matter? Everyone who might have cared was gone now. Everyone...

"Wherever Frigga went, Freyja followed," Elli continued, having regained her control, "Though she had no wish to be a queen or to live in splendor. For years she was content to watch her sister shine. And she was so very pleased when Lady Frigga announced she was with child, I had never seen her so happy. She spent countless hours with her, as if every moment were a precious treasure. But there was only so much they could share, so much that she could only bear witness to, not experience. It wasn't jealousy. She never felt such a thing toward Frigga, never begrudged her sister any happiness. But for the first time, the warmth of Frigga's joy only seemed to highlight the emptiness of her own heart. She was alone.

"It was not companionship she wanted. Indeed, she had scorned all past courtships and she was not of a mind to change her ways. It was that love, that special bond between a mother and her child that can never be replaced or broken, that she longed for. Perhaps she suffered from some pride as well, a desire for a kindred soul with whom she could share her mind, her heart, her life. Something that was inarguably hers and no one else's. Perhaps we'll never truly know what drove her to the madness that took her from us."

Klara's breath felt heavy in her chest. Her mind was leaden and slow. Her eyes stared unseeing at the detritus scattered over the prison floor.

"They were both well-versed in magic," Elli said, her voice mechanical, as if relating orders from somewhere far away, "But though no one might have known, in _this_ regard, Lady Freyja was always the stronger of the two. Though perhaps 'strong' is not the word... _insistent_ , willful even. She bent and molded her magic with a resolute determination and patience that could only come from a life of solitude and study. Magic was her playmate, her confidante, her bosom companion. It gave her whatever she wished, and in turn she gave it her mind and her heart. When you ask something of magic, you must always be prepared to give something back. There is always a price."

The hand that had fallen still on Klara's shoulder for untold minutes now squeezed involuntarily.

"If I had known," Elli whispered, as if only to herself, "Had I only guessed what she might do, had I suspected that it was even possible..."

She paused. Klara held her breath.

"The morning before the prince was born," Elli said, her voice hollow, "No one had seen Lady Freyja for a few days. She had asked not to be disturbed. This was not in itself unusual. She often requested solitude, even from me. But so close to the birth of the new prince, I thought perhaps... had I only..."

Elli's voice broke and she paused again, her grip still tight on Klara's shoulder.

"There was a baby crying."

Klara's heart twisted. She wanted Elli to stop talking. She did not want to know, not anymore, not ever again, she would do anything if Elli would only just _not speak_ _anymore_...

"The magic was so thick I could feel it on my skin. Every breath I took was heavy, like vapor. The dying embers of a fire were in the grate, but she was so... so cold. Like all the warmth had been syphoned from her, leaked through her skin. And her eyes... they had once been so blue... but the baby was crying, something had to be done, I couldn't leave it lying there. Guards would have to be summoned, there was so much to do, and the baby was crying, and the air was so heavy and thick, like breathing in soup, but the baby, _her_ baby, was crying and she wouldn't want that, that was the last thing she would want, something had to be done."

Elli's words which had been tumbling from her mouth in a fast and furious stream, suddenly stopped. Her fingers, which had been digging into Klara's shoulder relaxed. Klara heard the slow, steady release of breath.

"When I held you in my arms..."

Klara's stomach lurched and she wanted nothing more than to roll out of this bed, away from the touch of the woman who had raised her from infancy, who had _lied_ to her, who had told her _nothing_ of this all her life, to escape the knowledge that was coming, _had_ come, and that she wished she had never wanted, to run back to the life that was safe and quiet and familiar and was slipping from her grasp more quickly than she could catch it.

"...it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest," Elli whispered, "The magic fled before you and you looked up, wide-eyed innocence, and I could see _her_ gazing back at me, behind your bright blue eyes. And I knew I couldn't let them take you. You were all I had left of her. All that was left of the girl I had known and loved. I couldn't let the court vultures take your innocence and turn it into whispers and rumor and lies. I couldn't let them take the love she had given you, and twist it into ridicule. She poured every bit of her love into you. She gave you everything she had. And it cost her the thing she wanted most in the world. Her life with you."

Elli stood up. Klara did not move. She couldn't move. Her fingers dug into the mattress beneath her, white-knuckled. She felt as if her eyes were stuck open as wide as they would go. She could not remember when last she had blinked.

"I see her still," Elli said, her voice strong again, familiar, and Klara latched onto that sound and let it ground her in a world that was spinning all around her, out of control, "I see her there, behind your eyes, her strength of will masked by quiet contemplation."

She reached out and brushed a curl back from Klara's face, brushing her thumb along the soft skin beneath her eyes. And something crystalized in Klara's mind, a memory so clear and sharp it was as if she had heard the voice only a moment before.

_There is something... something in your eyes..._

"Did Frigga know?"

Elli's fingers froze against her face. Klara's eyes focused on the face of the woman who had raised her, the closest thing she had ever had to a mother. She was wearing her servants' blank expression.

"Did Lady Frigga know?" Klara asked again, her voice much stronger than she had expected, steady and still.

Elli hesitated before she answered.

"I never told her myself," she said, "But I think some part of her... recognized something in you. When you were still a child, the day we spoke of your... unique gifts... I think she saw something in you, more than just the potential for an ally. I think she saw... something familiar. Whether she ever suspected the truth I cannot say, but you were certainly far more to her than just a servant girl. Whether she knew your true relationship to her does not matter. She cared about you, Klara. Never doubt that."

Klara's eyes fell back to the floor, unfocused once more. She had waited and hoped for such a long time, longed for this knowledge, who she was, where she had come from, and now that it was hers, now that she had all the answers she could ever wish for, it felt like no more than hollow words. There was nothing in them to help her, nothing to fill the hole inside her where all her emotions had vanished. She should have had questions to ask, details to pull from Elli's mind, but she was just... tired. Too tired. She just wanted to be left to her drifting loneliness, her purposeless existence. There was no one left to care about who she was anymore. She didn't want it.

_Once you learn the truth, you can never unlearn it._

Loki's voice was so sharp, so present that Klara opened her eyes again, almost expecting to see him standing over her in Elli's place, hands behind his back, that familiar smirk on his lips, telling her that he had warned her, gloating about his own wisdom in such things. But of course, he wasn't there. It didn't matter now that he had been right all along. Nothing mattered now.

Elli sighed and let her hand fall back to her side.

"I have a message for you, from Lord Thor."

Klara blinked and refocused on Elli. The servant woman stood ramrod straight once more, no trace of emotion remaining on her face.

"He has requested a moment of your time, before he leaves for Midgard."

Suddenly, Klara was upright, staring at Elli with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

"Midgard?"

Elli raised an eyebrow.

"I am given to understand that he has chosen to remain there, indefinitely. There is a flurry in the court, I imagine we will be steeped in political machinations up to our eyeballs for the next several years."

Klara let out a long, disgusted breath. She could not begin to stomach the thought of wading through the tedious business of those who wished to claim the All-Father's throne. She shut her eyes in an attempt to drown it out, but all she saw was Fulla dancing on the backs of her eyelids in Lady Frigga's dress. She managed to swallow back the bile that threatened to come up her throat. How was she supposed to...? How could she...? She could not fathom how she was going to survive such disgusting displays, when she could barely force herself to walk the palace corridors.

Elli seemed to sense something of her feelings, because the cool flat of her hand pressed gently against Klara's flushed cheek.

"You have much to mourn, little one," she said, "But you cannot remain down here forever, locked away in your own personal dungeon. This loss... you cannot let it possess you. You were born of love and magic, Klara. Do not let them _take_ you as well."

She removed her hand and when Klara opened her eyes, Elli was once more stern and expressionless.

"I shall tell the prince to expect you within the hour," she said sharply, in a tone that brooked no argument. Klara was mildly surprised that she found the tone comforting, "Clean up and don't keep him waiting."

She turned and marched briskly from the cell, whose walls, Klara could see, had been deactivated. She sighed and glanced around the empty cell. The light was dull without the glimmer of gold, the broken trappings and scattered books lifeless and meaningless. He was already slipping away from this place, his presence dissipating into the cool dungeon air. There was nothing left here. She couldn't stay.

She looked up, watched Elli mount the steps and disappear into the dark stairwell. There was nothing there for her either. She was no longer in service to anyone. And she had served the Usurper, a traitor to the Nine Realms. Who would ever take her into service again?

But she had been promised to speak to Lord Thor. She could do that at least. Her final act in service to the royal family. What she would do after that, she did not know and did not care.

She rose and left the cell of the traitor, the prince, the monster, the son... so much more than that. She left the cell, and she did not look back.

* * *

Loki stared out into the dusk with a gaze that was not his own. He did not dare to drop the All-Father facade, not even alone in the throne room. So far he had managed only a few hours of sleep in a locked room, but that was well enough. Soon it would not be so dangerous. He watched with an old man's single eye, following the glitter of the Rainbow Bridge across the gently lapping water to the newly rebuilt observatory. It was not really so newly rebuilt, but in his mind it had only existed for a few scant days. It was well made. It would serve the purpose.

Planting the suggestion that Thor might take the girl had been just as easy as he had anticipated. In fact, his brother had come to the conclusion so quickly and eagerly that Loki had nearly changed his mind, insisted that she remain in the palace, perhaps locked up for treason, a possibility he had already considered, perhaps a sort of house arrest in one of the nicer guest wings... but no. It would never work. She could see _everything_ , if she ever escaped, ever caught even a _glimpse_ of him from afar... Something inside him clenched painfully, but he shoved it down deep and locked it away. So long as the girl remained in Asgard, everything was in jeopardy, everything he had worked for, everything he'd ever wanted, everything he had been _born_ for...

_...you were always a prince... always meant to rule... no one can take it from you..._

Loki shook the voice from his mind, but it didn't go far, only fell a little deeper into his consciousness, where he imagined it taking root and biding its time, waiting for the darkest part of night to haunt him. He watched the light fade from the sky, turning the horizon purple and dusting the upper atmosphere with glittering starlight. They should be ready soon. Thor had assured the All-Father that he would be removed from Asgard that evening. Any moment the girl ( _...Klara..._ some part of him murmured, but he locked that away as well) would step onto the Rainbow Bridge for the first time and begin her journey away from Asgard... away from him... none the wiser... never knowing...

_...no knowledge she had where her home should be..._

He set his jaw and gripped the staff in his hand more firmly, the unfamiliar sun-browned knuckles whitening. This was best. This was the only way. And in the end it would be safer, even with the risks of the Bifrost. Thor had voiced concerns in that regard, but Loki had done quite a bit of reading on the subject, unbeknownst to the girl, of course. The magic was powerful, but it did not, in essence, directly affect those who travelled it, so much as it affected the fabric of time and space around them. In short, it would not be a pleasant journey, but it was highly likely that Klara would survive it. Heimdall had agreed, though reluctantly. Loki tried to ignore the twist in his abdomen at the thought of the miniscule odds that if it did not go well... if he was wrong...

But he wasn't wrong. By the time the sun had risen again, Klara would be safely ensconced on Midgard and he could move on to more important matters, like ruling a realm or nine. He had so much to do, so much to see to, so little time...

Something stirred at the end of the low-lit bridge and the All-Father's eye jerked toward the movement. A pair of shadowed figures trudged along the glittering length, on foot rather than horseback. There seemed to be not much carried between them. Loki wondered if the girl had taken anything with her, any remembrance of the place she had called home. Any remembrance of...

Perhaps it was best. It _was_ best. He did not wish her to carry the burden of his falsehood into this new life he was giving her. He only wished that he could see her face, to _know_ with the kind of certainty he was accustomed to, that he was doing the right thing. No matter how much he told himself that she was a liability, a risk he could not afford, something inside him still thought... still hoped...

_...for the peace of you I hold such strife..._

He watched the shadowed figures draw farther and farther away, and allowed himself only a touch of unease at the parting.

* * *

It had not taken long for Klara to prepare for her journey, despite the short notice. When it came down to it, she found that she possessed very little she was of any mind to keep. The book of Vanir poetry from her bedside table, the pearl-inlaid hair brush that had been a gift from Elli at her coming of age. After a moment's hesitation, she had decided to take the dress she had worn at the Midwinter feast, the only gift she had ever received from the Lady Frigga. As she tucked the fabric away carefully, a picture rose unbidden in her mind, Loki's expression when she had presented herself to him that night. Had there been some sign of his feelings even then, some hint that she had not seen? She thought perhaps there might have been, but she had been too concerned with hiding her own heart to recognize it. The black box with Loki's Midwinter gifts went into her bag as well. She did not dare wear them on the journey. There was no way to know the damage that might be done.

She knew she ought to be frightened. Traveling the Bifrost with her... condition had always seemed nothing but a dream, and now the All-Father and Heimdall had decided that not only was it possible, but was actually _preferable_ to her remaining in Asgard. Despite the many reassurances, she knew there was no way to be certain what effect the Bifrost would have on her. At best, it was guaranteed to be a less than pleasant journey. At worst...

But even knowing these things, Klara still could not bring herself to feel anything but a dull sort of anticipation. She packed with a sort of mechanical rhythm that spoke of neither nerves, nor calm. She was empty. And quite frankly, if she looked into the darkest part of her soul, she thought that death might truly be preferable to this empty, pointless existence. She had been given the choice, but really there was no choice. Death surrounded her on all sides. At least the path she had chosen would not result in a death of apathy.

Elli met them at the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge and, to Klara's dim surprise, the older woman wrapped her in a firm, warm hug. It took several seconds for Klara to realize what was happening, several more seconds for her to work around her shock enough to hug the woman back. Elli had never once, in Klara's memory, embraced her. Something within her chest loosened slightly and she felt the beginning of what might be genuine pain, but before it became unbearable Elli released her, her face impassive as ever, brushing back wisps of Klara's curls that had come loose from her braid. Neither of them said anything. Klara did not know what she should say. Her emotions were in such a turmoil and she was not yet prepared to face them. Elli seemed to accept this, only nodding before stepping back, allowing Klara to turn and follow Lord Thor.

When her gaze turned to the glittering Rainbow Bridge, Klara had the first sense of leaving her world behind her. She had never been beyond the city walls, traveling the glowing bridge only in her imagination. She had never thought she would have the opportunity to see it so close, to watch as the wavering lights streamed below her. Normally the trek would be made on horseback, but as neither of them would be returning to the city and they had very few possessions between them, Lord Thor had thought it best to travel on foot.

The moment Klara's feet touched the surface, the crystal beneath her went momentarily dark and frosted white. Her stomach dropped. Even here, on the most powerful symbol of the magic of Asgard, her gift held sway. What hope had she of traveling through the stars when she could not even traverse the path to the gateway? She turned her attention to her hands, twisting together before her, and occupied herself with the counting of her steps, trying not to notice the momentary darkness that swelled with each count. By the time they stepped inside the golden domed observatory, she thought she had every line and nuance of her fingers memorized.

"Welcome, Mistress Klara."

The unfamiliar deep bass was soothing and so unexpected that Klara's eyes were jerked up from her hands. Heimdall's face was creased with a gentle smile that she could not help but find pleasant. His eyes were a golden hue that matched his helm and armor, striking against his dark skin. They roved over her with no pretense at deception, and then he inclined his head to her as if she were more than a mere servant girl.

"It is an honor to lay eyes on you at last. Long have you eluded my Sight."

Klara balked a bit at that. Heimdall was the All-Seeing, it was said that no one in all the Nine Realms passed his notice... well, _almost_ no one... but Klara did not want to think about the other that had once slipped under Heimdall's gaze, that had traveled the Nine Realms unhindered, the cause of mischief and chaos unrivaled...

She dropped her eyes to the gleaming floor and bobbed a low curtsy.

"My lord, the honor is indeed mine. I assure you, there was no intention of deceit in my elusiveness."

Her voice had come out soft and nearly robotic, as if the words had fallen from the memory of a long-forgotten holodesk.

"I never thought such things of you, little one," Heimdall's voice smoothed over her, "It is a strange thing to see and yet still perceive you not. I hope you have prepared for the journey you endeavor to make this night."

"I have, my lord," she answered, without raising her eyes, "I am ready for whatever may come."

"I fear that may not be so," Heimdall said with a touch of regret, "But we shall soon find out."

She sensed him turn to Lord Thor, who had stood aside through this exchange.

"Are you ready, my lord?"

There was a pause, and Klara saw the toes of Lord Thor's boots approach her.

"If I might have your bag, Mistress Klara?" he asked gently, "It might ease the journey if you make it unencumbered."

Klara hesitated slightly at the notion. Had she known that the crown prince of Asgard would be forced to bear her burdens, she might have taken nothing at all. But she thought of the dress tucked in the bottom of her bag and felt a sick knot at the thought of having left it behind, the only memory of the woman who might have been... who _had_ been...

She unshouldered the bag and handed it to Lord Thor, who swung it easily onto his shoulder. For a single moment, Klara dared to look up and caught herself staring, realizing with a painful jolt that it was _his mother's_ gift that she held so dear and precious now, that the tale Elli had told her in the depths of the dungeon meant far more than just a shift in her perception of herself. It meant a shift in her perception of the man before her. He would have been... He _was..._

She quickly dropped her eyes back to the floor. She was not ready for such things. Her emotions were raw, her world in a state of turmoil. What she needed, more than family or truth, was something familiar, something to hold on to that had not been irrevocably altered. She could hold on to this, this established relationship of servant to lord, of prince to subject, for a little while yet.

Lord Thor stepped close beside her and it took everything within Klara not to flinch away.

"Hold on to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "And do not let go, no matter what happens. I will guide you through the Bifrost."

Klara nodded and clutched at his offered arm with both hands. She was shaking, but it was not out of fear.

"Are you ready?" Lord Thor asked.

Klara looked up and around the observatory for the first and last time. The cavernous golden dome that rose above them was gloriously brilliant, and through the doorway, she could still see the glimmer of the royal palace at the edge of the water. Somewhere, in the depths of that glittering city, someone was sweeping away the last of the traitor prince. Klara swallowed and nodded, her eyes fixed on the palace, the last of her false past. Lord Thor turned his gaze behind them.

"Heimdall, whenever you're ready."

There was the long sound of metal scraping against metal and Klara felt a violent jerk, as if her spine were being ripped out through her neck. She had only the vaguest sense of brilliant light, streaming color... and then the world went black.

* * *

As the Bifrost lit the night in an explosion of color, Loki let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was done. For better or worse, he was now well and truly on his own.

With a lingering sense of doubt and reluctance, the Usurper turned from the darkened sky and went to meet his fate.


	21. Epilogue

When Klara next woke she was lying on a rather lumpy cushioned surface and there were several pairs of eyes peering down at her, only one of which she recognized. Little Jane Foster's eyes of deep brown were narrowed in concern, unlike those of her companions, an older disheveled man who was staring at her as if she were some sort of new species, and a young girl with thick spectacles who was grinning as if someone had left her a particularly glorious gift.

"You're awake," Jane Foster said, a little relief lighting up her eyes as she managed a small smile, "I'm not gonna lie, we were a little worried."

Klara blinked, trying to remember why any of these strange people should feel any concern for her. She tried to sit up...

...and something of what was about to happen must have shown on her face, because the bespectacled girl shouted "Bucket!" and a bright blue container was shoved under her nose just as Klara turned over and emptied the few contents of her stomach, along with a fair amount of bile. She choked and gagged for a moment feeling light-headed and frankly the most awful she had ever felt in her life.

"Welcome to Earth," the young girl said with a sort of sarcastic cheer.

Klara had no chance to answer. She was already gagging again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Final Author's Note:** I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone that has reviewed, favorited, shared, followed, or just quietly enjoyed this little story. Your words of encouragement and kindness have brightened so many days for me, I can't thank all of you enough!
> 
> So, Klara is on Midgard. What does this mean? That's right, there's a sequel! :D Klara will return in an Age of Ultron fanfiction that is currently in production. I have not entered the writing phase of this process yet, but there is an outline, and character notes, and all sorts of goodies that I'm excited to share with all of you! I have a tentative publishing timeline that has the story ready for consumption sometime in early 2017. I know that sounds like a very long time to wait, but please keep in mind that I have several other fics in progress, as well as an original novel that I'm hoping to publish sometime in 2017 as well. If you get bored or impatient, you might try "[Worth Living For](http://archiveofourown.org/works/961625)", my Bruce Banner/OC story set in the year before the first Avengers movie :)
> 
> If you'd like to keep up with my writing updates, you can follow my [Wordpress blog](https://fogisbeautiful.wordpress.com/), or find me on [Tumblr](http://fogisbeautiful.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fogisbeautiful), and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/fogisbeautiful.official/) (in that order ;P), all of which is under the name "fogisbeautiful". Actually, if you Google my username, you should be able to find me anywhere on the internet :) I love to get messages and "gentle reminders" from my readers, so feel free to pass notes and creep on my internet presence to your hearts' content! I am a socially awkward penguin, so don't feel intimidated by little ol' me ;D
> 
> Once again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, to everyone that has taken this journey with Klara and I, we can't wait to share the next chapter with you!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Clarity (The Playlist)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918449) by [fogisbeautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogisbeautiful/pseuds/fogisbeautiful)




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